


Where The Light Dangles

by Poemsingreenink



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, Period-Typical Racism, there's probably a plot on the horizon, xena levels of historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:09:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10409754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink
Summary: Billy and Goodnight check into a hotel hoping to do nothing be relax, rejuvenate and heal up. That's not what happens.





	1. Chapter 1

“Your servant can sleep in the barn. We keep it nice and toasty for the horses so he'll be just fine.”

Billy tipped his head to the side, and the avalanche of snow and mud that had been trapped on the brim of his hat splattered across the hotel's plush blue carpet.

“No, no,” Goodnight said. He slapped Billy hard on the back, and moved the two of them forward as a unit all while twisting the heel of his boot into the swiftly melting mess. “My companion and I couldn’t possibly be parted. Got a full night of planning to do you understand? He's my guide. He knows these mountains better than the back of his hand, and I’d be lost without him. You wouldn’t want me to get lost now would you?"

They were far enough North that he wasn’t entirely sure if his name would grease the wheels in the way he needed, but the young man behind the desk  took one look at Goodnight's graceful, looping signature and turned bright red.

"Oh! Of course Mr. Robicheaux. I mean, of course you'd know best about your situation not of course I'd ever wish for you to get lost."

He paused and dragged his eyes over Billy. The weight and measurement in his gaze made Goodnight want to bury a bullet in the other man’s brain. Owls be damned.

“Though you should know there's only one bed in that room, and we’ve no blankets to spare. Bit of a full house tonight.”

“I sleep standing up,” Billy said mildly.

The young man gapped.

“And with both eyes open,” Goodnight said, grabbing the thread and pulling the story loose. “Old trick he learned from back home. Marvelous thing to have in a body guard.”

The desk clerk bit his lower lip uncertainly. He was young, handsome and possessed the air of someone who was very aware of it. He reminded Goodnight of himself in years long past, and the thought only exacerbated his desire to shoot him. 

“Thought you said he was your guide?”

“Why he's both,” Goodnight said. “Two birds, one stone if you catch my meaning. I've seen him wrestle a mountain lion into submission without breaking a sweat.”

"I kept it as a pet for a while," Billy added.

Goodnight positively beamed. Usually, Billy left the tall tales to him, but it was so much more fun when Billy jumped in.

"Not that we have it any more," Goodnight assured. "Deadly creature like that has no place in civilized society. We let her run back to the mountains after a few months. Though she has been known to get lonely and suss Billy out."

Goodnight leaned against the counter.

"Now, I'm sure a smart young man like you has a complete run of this place. I know you're busy, but I bet a regular boss man like yourself could work some magic and get two baths up to my room. Cold water first for a good scrubbing, but then a refill of steaming hot stuff for a nice long soak. That wouldn't be all that hard to find would it? I'd be much obliged."

The hotel clerk bobbed his head, his golden hair gleaming in the candle light. He leaned in so close with such an eager expression in his grey eyes that Goodnight wondered what he was going to do if this young man offered to scrub his back. Compliments of the hotel and all. 

"Mr. Robicheaux, it would be my pleasure, sir.”

“Wonderful,” Goodnight said. “After weeks on the road it’ll be just the thing for us.”

“Of course,” the clerk’s gaze flickered to Billy. "I imagine there's a stink to contend with."

 

* * *

 

"I shouldn't have done that."

Billy sat on the bed, and bounced experimentally. There was a faint creek to the springs, but nothing anyone would come knocking about if it went on for too long. The fancier the place, the better the bed springs.

Goodnight leaned hard against the thick wood door, and pressed his ear against it. What he could pick up was muffled enough to satisfy him. He gave the door handle a pull, and then peered through the keyhole. Standard procedure.

"Done what?" Goodnight asked.

"The carpet."

Goodnight snorted. "Worried about scarring this fine establishment's pretty face?""

"No." Billy unbuckled his knife belt and draped it over the desk chair. "But the jackass at the front desk won't be the one cleaning that up. It's late. He'll wake up a maid. Make her scrub it."

Goodnight opened his mouth and then swiftly closed it. Billy was fond of saying that it was Goodnight who helped him navigate through the white man’s world, but Billy was the one with a keen understanding of how the guts of that world ground together. He knew what was waiting in all its dark corners, and whenever he pointed one out he left Goodnight feeling useless and lost in unfamiliar territory. Why Billy kept him around was a never ending mystery.

Billy finished unwinding the long strip of ratty knit he insisted was a scarf, and started to peel off the rest of his clothes. He ran into some trouble when he came to the buttons on his vest. Frowning, he flexed his fingers, trying to work heat and movement back into the stiff joints.

Goodnight crossed the room, and cupped Billy's hands between his own.

"Stop. Let me help."

He blew warm air over the knuckles, dug his thumbs into the calloused palms, and gently massaged the backs where he could feel the bones under a thin layer of skin. ‘Delicate’ wasn't a word he usually associated with Billy, but the bones under his fingers felt thin and fragile, and a mess of scars pointed to others who had gotten close to them and then abused the privilege. 

He almost pulled him into his arms before remembering that he was still wearing his sopping wet coat, and then he did it anyway just to hear Billy grumble.

"If there weren't hot baths coming I'd make you sleep on the floor for that," Billy said.

Slowly, Goodnight turned. He rolled his shoulders, and let his wet coat hit the floor with a dramatic thud. He tossed his hat behind him, not paying much attention to where it landed, and then kicked both his boots across the floor.

“Oh you’d be far too lonely all by yourself in that big bed.”

Billy's cold nose was suddenly buried into the back of Goodnight's neck. He clumsily untucked Goodnight's shirt, and ran his breath warmed hands across the other man's stomach.

"Do you think your friend from the front desk will be the one to bring the water up?" Billy asked. “He actually batted his eyelashes at you. I thought people only did that in plays.”

Goodnight snorted. "That petty little piss-ant deserves to get his teeth knocked in, and yes I expect we'll see him again tonight.” He paused. "Don't suppose you'd enjoy getting pampered? I could make him give your feet a rub. Scrub your back? Wash your hair? Order up a big steak dinner for you?"

Billy hummed as he kissed a trail across Goodnight’s neck, pausing to nip at the chilly skin.

“No, he’d do something to the food.”

“He would lose several fingers if he tried that,” Goodnight said with a smile that was as sharp as one of Billy’s knives.

He turned, but batted Billy’s hands away when he reached for Goodnight’s vest.

“Take yours off first,” Goodnight said. “You’re the one who keeps sneezing on me.”

“You started the whole thing by sneezing on me,” Billy said, but took the advice and started unbuttoning his vest and shirt with much nimbler fingers. “By the way, you’re missing a button.”

Goodnight peeled his own layers off, and then held the vest up for inspection. The low lamp light didn’t give him much assistance, and goose bumps ran the length of his arms. They’d need to get a fire going soon. 

"It appears that I am. I’ll stop by the general store tomorrow. Hell, I might send the piss-ant. Give you, me and the bed some more time together. What about the rest of my suggestions? If you don’t like my options you can always come up with a few of your own. He won’t try anything, not with me there watching, pointing, and managing the whole affair from a comfortable distance away.”

Billy shook his head, and turned around.  

“Look at you!” Goodnight crowed. “You’re not even tempted. Not even a little bit!”

Billy shrugged, and the muscles across his bare back stretched and flexed. There were scars across that length of skin that Goodnight liked to trace with his fingertips, connecting them with the occasional freckle like they were far off constellations and he a sailor searching for safe harbor.  

“I’m not being selfless. I just don’t want him to touch me. I only like it when you touch me.”

And just like that the vast cash of Goodnight’s vocabulary was made worthless in the wake of Billy’s simple confession. Goodnight’s compliments were heartfelt and numerous, but he’d never once stolen all the air out of the room with one simple sentence the way Billy just had.

“Here. Catch.”

A small black button bounced off Goodnight’s forehead, and he grabbed it before it could plummet to the floor.

“Did you pull this off _your_ jacket?”

Billy grinned. “With my teeth.”

“This does not solve the problem,” Goodnight said. “It just hands my problem over to you.”

“If I’m missing a button no one will notice, but a manager should look presentable,” Billy said. ”If people start thinking I’m the manager and you’re the knife thrower we’re in trouble. You’re a terrible knife thrower.”

A series of sharp knocks put a halt to the exasperated eye roll Goodnight was about to give.

“Okay funny man. I’ll keep the wolves at bay. You get a fire going.” He allowed himself one moment of complete self-pity before turning the handle, and throwing the door wide open. “Why if it isn’t the future manager! Roll those beautiful bathtubs in here. I’ve got three months’ worth of dust to wash out of my ears.”

Behind him, Billy sneezed. 

 

* * *

 

Goodnight could never decide which was worse; being plagued by insomnia or tormented by nightmares. No matter which one the night brought he paid well for it; his body and mind raw and suffering from the aftershocks well into the next day. Still, there were worst places to enjoy a night. He was in a bed, clean, full, and had a swell view of the full bright moon through the room’s far window. The sliver light spilled across the bed, and washed over Billy creating a sight so lovely that Goodnight wished he had any talent with a paint brush.

Billy’s still damp hair fell across his face like tendrils of smoke, and Goodnight reached over to tuck them behind his ears. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or worried that the move didn’t wake him.

Taking full advantage of Billy's unconscious state, Goodnight pressed a hand against the other man's forehead. If he'd tried it during waking hours Billy would have eye-rolled and squirmed away. Bristling at the mere idea that he, Billy Rocks, healthiest son of a bitch this side of the Mississippi could be sick. And lord help them all when Billy actually was sick. Goodnight practically had to sit on him to get him to rest. Luckily, the skin under his palm was cool. Billy cuddled closer, pressing into Goodnight’s palm. It would have been sweet had he not coughed right into Goodnight's face.

Deciding to leave Billy be, Goodnight rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It was higher than the roofs he was used to, but nothing as fancy as what he'd grown up with. He knew every spot on the ceiling of his childhood bedroom thanks to a bout of scarlet fever that had killed two of his siblings, and left him bed bound. He’d been weak as a kitten, and picking patterns out of the shadows that waltzed across the wood above had been the only excitement allowed. This one didn’t even have an interesting water stain to entertain him with.

His gaze drifted back to the window, and the moon.

A lack of fever didn't mean they shouldn't set up camp in this town for a few days. Or even a few weeks. Just long enough to chase Billy's cough away. They had the money, but the pompous cow-eyed youngster downstairs could be more trouble than the soft bed and warm fire was worth. 

He was weighing the possibility of asking the piss-ant to ride to the next town to pick up something that he didn't need or want (Shoestrings maybe) when a rock crashed through the window. It hit the floor with a thud, and went sliding across the boards amidst a glittering shower of broken glass.

It wasn’t a promising sight, but it wasn’t nearly as concerning as the fire drenched torch that came sailing in after it.


	2. Chapter 2

“Fire!”

Goodnight shouted the word, throwing it high into the air as he rolled out of bed. Unfortunately, in his haste he managed to take all of the bedding with him.  He landed on the floor with a thud, and spent precious seconds untangling his legs from the cocoon of sheets and blankets he’d piled atop the two of them in an attempt to ward off the winter chill.

He scrambled to his feet just in time to see Billy jackknife awake, and greet the quickly spreading flames with an open mouth.

“Fire?”

“Fire!!” Goodnight confirmed as he kicked another quilt out of the way.

The significant lack of bedding meant that when Billy rolled off the bed he had a clear path to the corner washbasin.  He grabbed the pitcher, filled hours before with water that was to be used for their morning shaves, ran to the burning floor and tipped it upside down.

Nothing came out.

Billy swore and tossed the entire thing to Goodnight who caught it, and then tossed it right over his shoulder. It landed on the floor with a resounding crack that split the entire thing in twain and showed off the slick, icy center.

Gathering up the mess of quilts Goodnight charged, swearing as he tried to snuff the fire out without much success. The topmost blanket was soon scorched, and more than one row of stitches rested side-by-side with a new thread of pure orange flame that wove over and under the neat seams. Goodnight tossed the burning blanket onto the bed, and coughed violently into his hands.

Billy went sprinting back to the washbasin and slammed his elbow through the thin layer of ice that had formed over the surface. He scooped the bowl up, ran back to Goodnight and flipped the entire thing upside down. A small sad trickle of water drizzled pathetically onto the flames which hissed its annoyance.

Billy threw the basin in the direction of the pitcher. 

The entire bed was burning cheerfully by that point, and the flames had begun to crawl up the walls. Smoke filled the room, and Goodnight grabbed Billy by the hand.

 “To hell with this!” Goodnight snarled.  “Abandon ship!”

They spilled into the hallway with their coats thrown over their shoulders, and their thankfully still packed bags tucked under their arms. Goodnight sucked in a deep breath, ready to announce to the entire hotel that their room was now a barbeque pit when he saw they weren’t the only ones racing for the front door.

Shouts of ‘fire’ filled the air, and smoke poured out of the rooms as the men and women who’d been sleeping under the roof of the Blue Minnow Hotel pushed each other out of the way in a panicked stamped down the stairs.

“Nice of them to come get us,” Billy said.

 

 

* * *

 

Winter had never been Goodnight’s favorite time of the year, but this particular one was shaping up to be so cold, so dark and so downright miserable that he knew it would hold a special place in his memories for years to come. It was unusual for them to be this far north past October, but they’d gotten an itch to see mountains, and early snows had kept them in the territory for long enough to realize it would be best to just wait their misery out rather than venture south.

However, standing in a snow bank in his bare feet, with the wind slapping his suspenders against his backside, and his entire body shaking off their hard-earned warmth was making Goodnight rethink this plan.   

His clothes were at least dry, and as he pulled layer after layer over his body he kept an eye on the shadows. Flaming torches didn’t come sailing through windows on their own accord. If a crazed mob of hooligans was about to ride through the streets with guns blazing then Goodnight wanted to at least die with his boots on.

“Look.”

Billy, swifter in dressing as he was in so many other things in their shared life, pointed his shaking gloved hand toward the front entrance of the cheerfully burning hotel. A man burst through the front door and flew down the steps, hollering the entire time. A handful of fire was riding him pig-a-back, and slowly turning his coat to cinders.

He raced past the two of them, and Billy’s eyes tracked the younger man as he went slipping and sliding from one side of the street to the other.

“It’s the piss-ant!” Goodnight said cheerfully.

Goodnight shoved his feet into his boots, but kept a firm eye on Billy. There was a deep, dark secret kept between the two of them, and it was so outlandish in the eyes of anyone but Goodnight that he never worried about it getting out.

The piss-ant’s panicked shouts were ratcheting up, and two older women were hot on his heels shouting for him to drop and roll.

The secret was this. While Goodnight was the one who chatted gamely with the citizens of the world. The social butterfly who bought rounds of drinks for strangers, and flirted his way through every cookout, barn raising and saloon they came across very little of his outward charm led to an actual fondness for the souls around him. Truth be told, Billy was the nice one. Goodnight was just loud.

The trouble was that life had taught Billy to keep that side of himself hidden in case anyone decide that he’d just tipped his hand, and showed off his weak spots. Billy couldn’t afford weak spots. It was why Billy’s horse might have been the most spoiled creature in all of creation. All that kindness had to go somewhere. Despite all efforts to the contrary it couldn’t stay dammed up for long, and while ‘nice’ didn’t mean Billy was one to assist the sneering jack asses of the world, Goodnight wasn’t entirely sure Billy would just stand by and let some idiot burn to death in front of him.

(Goodnight wasn’t entirely sure about _himself_. He wasn’t great with these kinds of tests, and in his personal opinion the world would probably be better with one less fan of the famous Goodnight Robicheaux in it.)

Billy took a step forward, hands steady, and eyes assessing the situation. Then the piss-ant went and solved the problem by throwing himself into a tall snow bank, arms out-stretched as though he meant to create an angel.

“That’s a bad idea,” Billy remarked.  “He’s going to get frostbite.”

A small posse of men and women crowded around the fallen hotel employee, and one of them pushed an avalanche of snow over him.

“He’ll probably suffocate before that gets a chance to settle in,” Goodnight said.

Billy opened his mouth to answer, but a coughing fit went and trampled all over his moment. It doubled him over, and went on for long enough that Goodnight was reaching out to steady him when a blur of motion raced between them.

“Out of the way! I’m a doctor!”

A long black bag swung dangerously close to Goodnight’s nose, and he jumped back in time to keep it from bashing him between the eyes. The heel of his boot slid through the mess of slush and mud, and his arms pin-wheeled in a failed effort to keep himself balanced. He landed hard on his ass.

“Oh God’s teeth!”

The circle of concerned citizens broke apart to let the doctor through. Goodnight let his head fall back into the snow, and snorted like a mad bull.

“This town sure is overflowing with the genuine milk of human kindness,” Goodnight said.  “You alright, Billy?”

Billy waved Goodnight off, but continued to cough. Finally he hacked, spat, and straightened.

“I’m fine.” He readjusted the pack draped over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I am wet, and once again susceptible to the tempestuous whim of nature,” Goodnight grumbled. “How do you think I am?”

Billy rolled his eyes and offered Goodnight a hand up.

Goodnight was about to take it when he noticed a splatter of hoof prints just at his elbow. The prints led right out of town, and were such a jumble of marks that it was clear that more than one horse had been a part of the ride. What really caught Goodnight’s attention though, was the spotting of bright red blood that splashed across the surface like newly blossomed poppy flowers. The blood stretched out to form a neat trail that started from the collapsing hotel porch, and ended right where Billy stood.

“Oh, what the hell happened to your feet?” Goodnight exclaimed.


	3. Chapter 3

"You know, as much as I hate to admit this, the piss-ant was right."

Billy, who was propped up against a hay bale with his arms crossed and his bare foot in Goodnight's lap, raised an eyebrow.

"About what?"

"The barn,” Goodnight said. “This place is toasty! I think our horses were warmer than we were."

Goodnight dropped the wet rag he'd used to clean Billy's scrapped up soles, and lifted the foot to give it one last examination. The cuts hadn't been deep enough to require stitches, a happy surprise considering that Billy'd gone running through a patch of smashed up glass, but walking wasn't going to be all that fun for the next few weeks. Goodnight gave a moment’s thought to the lovely bed, now nothing but cold ashes that he could have used as an excuse to keep Billy off said feet for at least a week. Why was the world so insistent on tormenting him?

"Good," Billy said. "Indigo doesn't like the cold."

Goodnight rolled his eyes, and reached for a strip of clean linen to bandage Billy’s foot. From their spot in the hayloft they couldn't see their horses, but they could hear the gentle snorts, and hoof stamps from the animals below. So far none of the other hotel guests had come to fetch their mounts and Goodnight hoped it remained that way. There was nothing more cumbersome than a panicked group of people, and running out of a burning building tended to set folks on edge.

"You know, Billy," Goodnight said, as he tied the wrap into place. "There are days when I think you prefer that horse to me."

"Don't say that," Billy said, seriously. "You both have equal standing in my heart."

"Oh really?" Goodnight asked. He lifted Billy's foot into the air, and then with a grin pulled so hard that Billy went sliding onto his back and across the hay covered floor. He climbed on top of him, straddling Billy's hips, and wiggled his fingers into the other man’s face. "These hands just tended to your bleeding hurts! Your horse ever do that?"  
  
"If she could I'm sure she would. It's not her fault she doesn't have hands." Billy reached up to interlace their fingers, and tilted his head to the side as though thinking deeply about the issue. "She does other things for me."

Goodnight scoffed and leaned down until their noses touched. "Like what exactly?"

Billy's dark eyes glittered. There was hay caught in his hair, and a soft curl to his mouth.

"She lets me ride her."

"Oh for god's sake!" Goodnight laughed.

"Any time I want. To any place I want. No complaining."

"If you insinuating that I _complain_ when-"

"Of course not! I already told you. You’re on equal footing with Indigo. I’m actually complimenting you when-”

Goodnight kissed him quiet. He ground his hips against Billy's thigh, and Billy tugged Goodnight forward with their still joined hands. He was trying to gain leverage with his elbows so he could sit up, and Goodnight was playfully trying to keep him pinned down when the barn door flew open hitting the side of the wall with a bang.

Goodnight threw himself off Billy, and dove into the hay. Luckily, he rolled toward the wall rather than off the loft’s edge which would have resulted in a broken neck. He lay panting, his lips kiss swollen, and brain still foggy from desire. The uncomfortable bulge in his pants was swiftly disappearing as the cold wind sailed through the open barn door, and warped him up in its chilled embrace.

The door banged shut, and a loud angry voice filled barn.

“This is unacceptable! They have gone too far!”

“I agree,” another voice, this time a woman’s, said. “Something must be done!”

“Calm down,” joined a third. It was older, rougher than the first two, and sounded as tired as Goodnight felt. “We can’t go charging into this, and both of you keep your voices down. We don’t know if we’re the only ears about.”

Goodnight and Billy glanced at one another. Goodnight shrugged.

“Those godless vermin burnt the Minnow down!” the woman cried. “If that isn’t reason enough to go charging into things than what is? That hotel had barely been standing a month! Do you know what the cost to rebuild it is going to look like?”

“Ms. Abigail, please see this from my perspective.”

“No, Steven. I won’t. This must be dealt with swiftly.”

“And by who Ms. Abigail?” Rough voiced Steven asked. “Who in this town has the character needed to handle a job like this? The people of Burnt Fish Junction are good folks, but they’re not built for actions such as these.”

“Wait.” A low impressed whistle cut through the air. “I know this horse. This is Goodnight Robicheaux’s horse!”

Goodnight went stiff.

“Henry, what on Earth is a Goodnight Robicheaux?”

“He was a confederate solider during the war, Ms. Abigail,” Steven answered. “Earned himself a bit of a reputation.”

Goodnight ran a hand over his face. He tugged at the skin of his cheeks, and pinched at his chin. He wished in that moment that his face were made of soft malleable clay. That he could scrape and tease it into a face that was unrecognizable to the rest of the world.

“Josiah checked him into the hotel earlier,” Henry continued. “You should have seen it! I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his skull.”

Billy’s hand encircled his wrist and gave it a squeeze. It was balm over his dark thoughts, and he smiled in thanks.

“Josiah also turned himself into a human torch,” Ms. Abigail sniffed. “I fail to see what his high opinion of one man could mean to our cause.”

The smile morphed into smirk, and Goody nudged Billy’s foot with his own.

“No,” Steven said. “Henry just might be onto something for once. No offense Henry, but sometimes you don’t have the good sense God gave a goose.”

“You keep that in mind the next time your wife comes into my store asking for credit,” Henry snapped.

“Calm down, boys. Calm down.”

“I’ve hear the stories of his actions in the war,” Steven continued. “If he’s willing, a man of his history and talents might be the solution to our problem.”

Personally, Goodnight figured that the small family of mice poking their noses out of the hay bale and inspecting Billy’s ear would be a bigger help than he could offer. But people tended to grow deaf whenever he tried to back out of anything that might involve a gun fight.

“Of course he’ll be willing,” Henry crowed. “I heard the man boast of wrestling a mountain lion into submission! A man that spry will have this place cleaned up in less than a week.”

Billy huffed and Goodnight reached over to give his arm an apologetic pat. It wasn’t the first time people’d managed to twist Billy’s glory into Goodnight’s fame, and it always got Goody’s dander up.

“Our quarry is dangerous and insidious,” Ms. Abigail said, darkly. “Let’s hope he’s up to this task.”

The hinges of the barn door creaked and groaned, and another bitter wind swept into the building.

“Those poor souls from the hotel fire are spread out across the town by now,” Ms. Abigail said, her words battling the wind for space in the world. “I’ll start searching homes for Mr. Robicheux. Steven, you speak to the sheriff.”

“No, Ms. Abigail,” Steven said. “Henry can speak to the sheriff. I’ve met men like Robicheux before, and it’ll take a man’s word to convince him of this fight’s importance. I’ll be coming with you.”

Goodnight’s eye roll wasn’t nearly as impressive as Billy’s, but it got the job done.

“Hey, if that’s Mr. Robicheaux’s horse then who owns this beauty?” Henry asked.

“The one next to it? Don’t know.”

“Well, this is the finest looking filly I’ve ever laid eyes on! Look at that mahogany coat! It practically gleams.”

Billy gave Goodnight a wide-toothed grin.

“Ha! And she’s a sweetheart to boot! Have a carrot, honey.”

A crunching noise filled the air.

Goodnight responded with a look that said “What are you so happy about? Your perfect horse is catting around on you,” but it was wasted. Billy wasn’t paying him any attention. He had his hands pressed hard over his mouth, and his body jerked.

“Did you hear something?”

Billy’s body jerked again, and this time the cough escaped. After that there was no holding them back, and he hacked and wheezed into cupped hands. The coughs sounded wetter than before, and it made something anxious and dark twist through Goodnight’s stomach.

“Who’s up there? You show yourself now!”

Billy gave Goodnight’s wrist one last squeeze, and then pressed it hard into the hay.

_Stay put._

As he climbed to his feet he made a show of rubbing his eyes, and twisting his body from side-to-side looking like nothing more than a man newly wakened. With a jaw splitting yawn Billy dropped his hands so that they each rested next to a glittering knife.

“It’s Robicheux’s servant!” Henry said. “I remember Mr. Robicheux instructing him to sleep in the barn."

Goodnight wondered if the entire world was this stupid or if he was just lucky enough to meet all the idiots on the globe.

"He's a lucky fella to have missed all the excitement," Ms. Abigale said. "Excuse me! Sir! Do you speak English?"

Billy shrugged, his face as smooth as a frozen pond.

“Allow me, Ms. Abigail," Henry broke in. "Hey! You there! You get Goodnight Robicheux’s horse saddled up. He’s going to need it.”

Billy tilted his head thoughtfully to the side. Some of his hair had escaped from the pins, and the long black hair brush at his shoulder.

“This horse!” Henry said, shouting now and probably pointing. “Put. A. Saddle. On. It.”

Reaching into his pocket, Billy came back with a cigarette.

“No, you dumb son of a-"

"Henry, can you keep a civil tongue in your head for once in your life?"

“Leave the man be, Henry,” Steven interjected. “If he wants his horse saddled then Robicheux can deal with him.”

“You expect a man with a servant to help the likes of us?” Ms. Abigail scoffed. “I have my doubts about this plan.”

Goodnight silently agreed.

The barn door slammed shut, and Billy lit his cigarette.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Billy said, as he offered Goodnight a hand. “None of them were armed, and they probably wouldn’t have shot me in front of a lady.”

“You’re going to set the barn on fire,” Goodnight grumbled.

Billy offered him the cigarette, and Goodnight took it as the apology it was.

“We should leave,” Billy said, reaching over to pluck a strand of hay from Goodnight’s hair. “Unless you want to be the hero of Burnt Fish Junction?”

“Nah. Sounds like an awful amount of work.” Goodnight took a deep puff of the cigarette, and then blew a series of smoke rings into the air. “Your cough sounds worse.”

Billy bristled. “It’s the same cough I get every winter. Every winter you hover, and every winter it’s fine.”

“That is because you could be bleeding out of your eyeballs, and you’d still say ‘Oh I’m just fine Goodnight. I’m the picture of health, Goody. Might dance a jig I’m feeling so spry,” Goodnight said, and danced a few quick steps that made the loft wobble just to prove his point. “And I wouldn’t have to hover if you’d just admit when you weren’t feeling well. I tell you when I’m sick.”  
  
Billy’s laugh was so loud that it startled the birds roosting in the rafters above.

“What? I do!” Goodnight argued.

Bending down, Billy began to gather up their bags. “You actually were bleeding out of your eyeballs once, and you know what you said? ‘Oh I’m just fine, Billy’.”

“My accent does not sound like that.”

“Feeling great, Billy. Thinking about picking a fight with whole saloon I’m feeling so good.” Billy threw his fists up and began to shadow box.

“Vomiting until your eyes become bloodshot is a complete different thing than what I’m talking about,” Goodnight insisted.

With a shake of his head, Billy gave him a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth and headed toward the ladder still chuckling.

“Bet you wouldn’t complain if your damn horse hovered,” Goodnight muttered.

He picked up his own pack, brushed a startling amount of hay off of his rifle, and followed Billy down the ladder.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

They made it as far as the butcher shop. A shabby, if clean, little building that was sneezing distance away from the town border. Under normal circumstances they’d of had little reason to visit. Under extraordinary circumstances, they might have ducked inside to try a finer cut of meat than what they could usually acquire. Under their current circumstances, they had every intention of passing it when a group of women marched out the door and into the street.

  
The two men brought their horses to a stop, and watched the little parade of heavy winter coats and woolen dresses, the hems of which were wet and dirtied by the snow, as they passed. There were baskets full of foodstuffs hanging over arms and balanced on hips, and Goodnight’s stomach gave a unhappy growl.

  
He smiled amiably at the group, and tipped his hat as they passed. Once they were out of the way he and Billy would march directly out of Burnt Fish Junction, and into the trees. According to their maps there was a small mountain trail there that eventually collided with a stream they could follow south.

  
Where they would go next was a mystery, but mystery and Billy had been the only joyful constants in Goodnight’s life these past few years. Normally, he'd of been happy to be back on the road.

  
A series of sneezes hit the air, and Goodnight grimiced. Billy could insist he was fine until he was as blue in the face, but Goodnight had seem him struggling to mount his horse back at the barn.It had somewhat dampened Goodnight’s confidence in his _cher's_ testimony.

The group of women had just about passed when one of them broke away from the pack, and moved to stand right in front of them. She was at least a head taller than the rest of her companions, and wrapped in a much finer clothes. Embroidery decorated the cuffs of her thick coat, and supple leather gloves covered her hands. She had skin the color of wet sand, and there were flyaway curls of brown hair escaping from her hat. The curls framed a face that had enough lines decorating it that Goodnight suspected there would be plenty of gray mixed in with that brown if he ever saw her without it.

  
“You two!” She called. “Were you displaced by the fire at the Minnow?”

  
“Yes, ma'am,” Goodnight answered. “We figured as long as we’re awake we might as well be on the road.”

  
“In the middle of the night?” she said. “In this cold? No, no. I have plenty of supplies, and rooms to spare. You’ll come with me.”

  
Goodnight’s horse tossed its mane, eager to be moving again.

  
“We can’t possibly accept,” Goodnight said. “There's no reason for us to take your space and supplies when we’re just fine moving along.”

  
His mount shook her head in irritation, and then attempted to reach over and bite Billy’s beloved Indigo.

  
“Stormy, knock that off!’ Goodnight hissed.

  
He shot Billy an apologetic glance, and was surprised to see Billy had been too busy blowing his nose to notice Stormy’s rudeness. Billy never missed an opportunity to defend his horse. Even from other horses.

  
“There are no other towns for miles,” the well-dressed woman said patiently. “Burnt Fish is a bit of a island.”

  
Goodnight started praying that this woman would be easily susceptible to charm. A grown man he could out talk. Any drunk at a poker table or harasser of his Billy was someone he could butter up, and move to the side. But a grown woman with a mind to feed people was a character he’d never won against.

  
“It’s not that we don’t truly appreciate the offer Miss-”

  
“Gloria,” she finished.

  
“Miss Gloria,” Goodnight said.

  
Billy tipped his head, and Goodnight’s eyes tracked the motion. To his horror he saw that the parade of women had paused to watch their conversation.

  
“Careful,” Billy said, softly.

  
There was movement from the group, and a figure in a long coat, boots, pants and wide-brimmed hat started making their way to the front. They stopped at Miss Gloria’s shoulder, and Goodnight saw a rifle hanging across their back, and a hatchet in their belt.

  
Billy’s hand casually moved from the reins to his thigh to be closer to his knives, and Goodnight got ready to give his horse a good kick.

  
“It’s going to snow,” the figure said. “Leaving is a bad idea.”

  
The light from the moon washed over the figure’s face as she spoke. Goodnight supposed he should have considered it unusual to see a Chinese woman in this area, but then again he was standing next to the only Korean within 100 miles so who was he to deem things unusual?

  
Her face was as lined as her companion’s, the mouth turned down at the corners, but there was a spark in her brown eyes that was missing in Miss Gloria’s that made Goodnight think she was teasing him for something she wasn’t sharing.

  
Miss Gloria put a hand on her hip. “If you leave now, you’ll probably freeze to death.”

  
“Or be buried in an avalanche,” her companion added. “Lots of those in winter.”

  
“I’m sure it won’t be all that bad,” Goodnight said, confidently. “We’ve survived colder temperatures-”

  
As if on cue, it began to snow. Thick, silent and numerous, they flakes drifted in front of Goodnight’s nose and started piling up around the horses’ hooves.

  
“-and we’re used to dealing with whatever nature may throw our way.”

  
“You’re a stupid man,” the Chinese woman said. “Do you think you can fight a blizzard and win?”

  
To Goodnight’s horror, Billy seemed to be considering this as though a snow storm was just another opponent in a shooting match.

  
“Only a man would think that, Alice,” Miss Gloria agreed. “Where do you need to go in such a hurry? The only creature you'll run into for miles are sleeping bears.”

  
“Maybe they’re with the evil curs that burnt down the Minnow!” Came a high, worried voice from the crowd. “Why else would they be so willing to leave in these circumstances?”

  
“Now wait just a minute,” Goodnight said, scrambling for to grab hold of the situation before it ran off. “Those are strong accusations!”

  
“Laura,” Alice said with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t start a panic.”

  
“It's just a suggestion, Miss Alice! These two look like disreputable creatures.”

  
A silence fell over the group, and through the curtain of the swiftly worsening snowfall Goodnight felt several pairs of eyes take in the picture he and Billy made.

  
Goodnight gave them a nervous half smile. It had been such a long time since a group of angry townsfolk had chased the two of them out of town. Maybe they were due. He didn’t want to mow down a group of very nice woman, but he was a good enough rider to believe he could maneuver his way around most of them if they grew violent.

  
“They look cold,” Miss Gloria finally said. “That’s all. Now don’t be stubborn fools. Alice and I have a little place about half a mile outside of town. Come with us, and wait out the blizzard. We don’t need anymore ghosts haunting this town.”

  
“Ghosts?” Billy asked dryly.

  
Alice shrugged. “We have a few.”

  
Goodnight tipped his head back, and got an eyeful of the fat, white snowflakes that were already dampening his collar and hat. The wind would be worse on the trail, even with the trees to block it, and their supplies were low. Replenishing their stores had been one of the many things he’d hoped to do in their downtime.

  
Out of the corner of his eye he watched Billy mop up his runny nose with his sleeve. He looked pale and tired, and in need of a real bed and a series of hot meals. They couldn't stay in Burnt Fish Junction. Lord forgive him, but he did not want to get involved in, let alone lead whatever madness was about to infect this town. The thought of being roped into any kind of bounty hunt made his chest tighten. He wanted to leave, and he wanted to leave right this second, but Billy was ill. No amount of denial or prayer could chase illness away. If he got worse on the road he'd have no one but Goodnight and the cold to turn to.

   
"Outside of town you say?"

  
"A little under a mile," Alice confirmed.

  
Miss Gloria nodded crisply in agreement. "If we leave now we should be nice and cozy around my fire by the time the worst of the storm hits."

  
Billy shifted in the saddle, and Goodnight saw his heel gently turn to press against Indigo's side. 

  
“Miss Gloria,” Goodnight said in a rush before Billy could give his horse a kick and go galloping away. “We would be delighted to stay at your home. Now that I think on it, we are a little too old to be shadow boxing snow storms, and sharing caves with hibernating bears.”

  
Goodnight could feel Billy's gaze on him, but decided it was best to keep his eye on their welcoming host for the moment.

  
“Excellent!" Miss Gloria said. "What are your names?”

  
Goodnight opened his mouth, and found there was nothing waiting to jump out. His mind went blank. If he handed out his real name then the group from the barn would be knocking on the door demanding assistance within the hour.

  
“Chisolm,” Billy said. “His name is Sam Chisolm.”

  
Goodnight sent a quick apology up to Sam, wherever he was, for the theft of his name, but emergencies were emergencies.

  
“And yourself?”

  
An odd rush of excitement ran through Goodnight as he waited to hear the name Billy would choose as an alias. Something from his home country maybe? Or a character from one of the plays Goodnight was constantly dragging him to? A Biblical figure? Of all the names available to him which would Billy pluck out of the air and share with the world?

  
“Indigo,” Billy said. “I’m called Indigo.”

  
Goodnight sighed, loudly.

 

* * *

 

The ride to Miss Gloria’s was uneventful. Their horses picked a slow path through swiftly expanding snow drifts, and while Miss Gloria led the way Alice filled the silence with a steady stream of conversation.

  
“We’re bee keepers by trade,” she said. “It’s why we live just outside of the Junction. The town council would have kittens if we tried to set up hives next to the post office.”

  
Billy gave Goodnight a puzzled look, and mouthed the words ‘kittens?’ Goodnight shook his head. It wasn’t a saying he’d ever heard, but he liked it.

  
“The winter is a dead time for us,” Alice continued. “But the rest of the year we have more employees, and we sell the honey at the general store. We’ve got buyers who come to us, a fair amount of traveling salesmen, and my daughter takes a few crates with her to sell down river whenever she visits us.”

  
“Us?” Billy asked. “We?”

  
Alice held his gaze. “My name is not on any legal paper, but that doesn’t mean my work is not mine.”

  
“That’s exactly what that means,” Billy grumbled under his breath.

  
“What brought you into town in the middle of the night?” Goodnight asked, trying to steer the conversation in a direction that wouldn’t end with them left out in the literal cold.

  
“The doctor sent for us,” Miss Gloria called back. “I was a midwife and a nurse before I was ever a bee keeper. Alice knows enough about injuries to be a useful pair of hands in an emergency, and Doctor Wallis wasn’t sure how bad the situation at the Minnow was going to be. Turned out he didn’t need us. The only one who really got hurt was Josiah.”

  
“Shame” Billy said.

  
“Very upsetting.” Goodnight added. “I do hope that young man pulls through. He seemed like such a dedicated employee.”

  
Someone snorted, but the snow was so thick that Goodnight couldn’t tell who.

 

There was a lit lamp hanging from the front porch of the cabin Miss Gloria led them to. First and second floor windows were cheerfully lit with candles and firelight which meant someone else was inside, and whoever that was had also nailed a long lead rope into ground. It started at the front porch, and then ran to the door of the barn before forking off to connect with the outhouse. A smart idea considering the storm was getting worse by the moment.

  
The group of them swung down from their saddles into snow that was ankle deep. Goodnight started toward the barn, and found Miss Alice blocking his path.

  
“Let me, let me,” Alice insisted as she snatched the reins right out of Goodnight’s hand.

  
She turned to Billy expectantly. Billy opened his mouth to protest, and started to cough again. He bent over, putting his hands on his knees, and dropping his head so that his hat went tumbling into the snow. Goodnight snatched it up before the wind could make off into the night with it, and then worried he’d moved to rescue the wrong thing since Billy looked one cough away from joining it on the ground.

Thankfully, Miss Gloria marched over to Billy’s side. She plucked the reins out of his grip, and handed them right off to Alice before sliding her arm around Billy’s back to keep him upright.

  
_Dear Lord,_ Goodnight though. _Please keep Billy from flipping this nice woman right over his shoulder. He’s not an easily startled man, but he’s not feeling well at the moment and that tends to make him a tad jumpy._

  
The fit passed, and Miss Gloria stayed right where she was. Billy spat and the heavy glob created a neat hole by this feet as it sank into the snow.

  
Miss Gloria pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, and Goodnight spent another moment certain that he was about to see a bundle of petticoats and calico go flying through the air.

  
“Based off the temperature of your forehead, Mr. Indigo,” she said. “I’m going to guess that what you just spat out is a lovely shade of chartreuse.”

  
“Ch-chartreuse?” Billy said, stumbling over the word.

  
“It’s a shade of green,” Goodnight said. “Like a caterpillar. It also means you’re sick.”

  
“It’s a cough,” Billy said stubbornly.

  
“Which is something sick people have,” Goodnight volleyed.

  
Miss Gloria pulled a thin key out of her pocket, and made for the door. “Come on. We need to get inside. I want to feel my extremities again, and you need to be examined, Mr. Indigo.”

  
Billy was already starting to argue, so Goodnight raised is voice and trampled right over it.

  
“Mr. Indigo would absolutely love that,” Goodnight said. “Do you have one of those stethoscope things? He’s been saying for weeks ‘Sam, if only there was a doctor around who could give my lungs a good listen to my anxieties would melt away, quick as candle wax.’ And hey! While your in the mind to do some examining, do you think you could give his feet a good once over?”

  
“A fever isn’t something that would affect a man’s feet, Mr. Chisholm,” Miss. Gloria said as she opened the front door.

  
Heat and light spilled across the snow, and Goodnight all but shoved Billy inside.

  
“Of course it wouldn’t,” Goodnight said. “But, it’s a funny story. You see-"

  
Next to him, Billy sighed. Loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....is "Xena levels of historical accuracy" a viable AO3 tag? Asking for a friend.


	5. Chapter 5

The house was well-made and well-cared for. Pegs were pounded into the walls of the front hall, and once coats, boots and gloves had been hung to dry Goodnight herded Billy further inside like a patient sheep dog with a particularly stubborn ewe (A comparison he planned on never, ever telling Billy about). The hall opened into a large sitting room filled with stuffed chairs, couches and a roaring fire that kept the room so cozy Goodnight moaned in pleasure. Directly to his left was a set of stairs that disappeared up to the second floor, and further back was a darkened entryway that Goodnight guessed led to the kitchen.

To the right was a bookshelf crammed to bursting with volumes, and directly next to that a closed door. Miss Gloria crossed the room, waving them along, and had just turned the doorknob when a small boy popped up from behind the couch.

Goodnight jumped a foot. Billy’s head snapped up, and the immediate clenching of his jaw let Goodnight know that had been a particularly bad move. Miss Gloria smiled.

“Henry,” she said. “You are supposed to be asleep.”

Henry couldn’t have been more than eight though he was a bit larger than most of the eight-year-olds Goodnight had encountered. He had close-cropped black hair, a round face and was wearing a knitted green sweater that was so large even his chubby frame swam underneath it. A dog, floppy eared and with a fair amount of gray in his muzzle pushed past him, and came slowly trotting over to smell the new company.

“I wanted to know if anyone died,” Henry said, solemn as a well pressed Sunday suit. “Will burials be needed? It can be difficult in the winter, but papa was teaching me all the tricks to a winter burial before I came to visit so I could help.”

“Henry,” Miss Gloria said. “Is that the proper way to greet guests? This is Mr. Chisolm and Mr. Indigo. Say hello.”

Henry bit his lower lip, and then turned to face the two men. He took Goodnight in without much interest, but immediately locked his sights on Billy. Specifically, on the knife belt that was now proudly out in the open without the long black coat to conceal it. Goody would have to ask what the bee keepers wanted them to do with their weapons.

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Henry. Which one of you will be building the coffins? I can help with that too,” Henry said, looking as eager to assist as Goodnight had once been when begging his oldest cousin to take him along hunting.

Miss Gloria looked decidedly put upon, but not as horrified as Goodnight would have liked. Billy’s face was impassive, but he slid his eyes to Goodnight’s, and then further down to his rifle. Goodnight squeezed the shoulder he had his arm thrown over.

_We’re armed. Calm down._

“Henry, no one has died so coffins will not be necessary, but thank you for offering your assistance,” Miss Gloria said.

The dog gave Goodnight and Billy's boots a good sniffing, found nothing interesting or alarming about either of them, and then trotted back to Henry toes clicking along the hard-wood surface. Henry gave the dogs ear's a scratch, but continued to inspect Billy with some consideration.

"Are you a new citizen of Burnt Fish," Henry said, cautiously. "Will you be staying long?"

The question was entirely aimed at Billy.

Miss Gloria opened the far door, but turned to give Henry a stern look. “Henry, Mr. Indigo is not feeling well. Don't pester him with questions. Thank you for keeping the fire nice and warm, but you take Bluebell upstairs and go to bed.”

Henry shifted from foot-to-foot the urge to disagree shining from every inch of skin.

“Can I wait and say goodnight to Grandma?” He asked. "I'll be very quick."

“You may wait to go to sleep until you've told Alice 'goodnight'," Miss Gloria said. "But you can wait for her in your room. Go on now."

Henry moved forward and hugged Miss Gloria hard around the waist. She laid a hand atop his head, and then hugged him back just as hard. After breaking away, Henry looked Billy and up-and-down as though trying to memorize his measurements, and then headed for the staircase with the dog close at his heels.

“You'll have to excuse Henry,” Miss Gloria explained. “Alice's daughter went and took up with an Irish undertaker. He's a nice man, but he means to teach Henry his trade and Henry might be a little too well-versed in the profession at this point.”

“I bet he’s great at it,” Billy said, flatly.

Goodnight pretended to cough into his hand so that Miss Gloria wouldn’t see him chuckling.

Not for the first time, Goodnight wondered what kind of boy Billy had been. Quite? Intense? Small for his age? Big for his age? Usually, he pictured a scrappy little boy brimming with energy, but Billy’s store of tales about his childhood was short and rather lacking in details.

“I don’t remember a lot,” he’d told him once over drinks. “I remember my parents. I had four older brothers, and they were all married. I remember their names, but their faces are blurry now. I remember that our village was burned, but I don’t know why. And then it’s just this muddle of running and being hungry, and running. Everyone died. It’s not very interesting.”

There’s more there. Goodnight knows it. Can tell by the expression on Billy’s face, and the way he gently moves the topic to the side whenever it comes up, but Billy’s history is Billy’s. If he decides that there are parts of it he’d rather not share Goodnight won’t push.

“Don’t you go getting sick too,” Miss Gloria said to Goodnight, her attention back on the door. She pushed it open, and waved them inside. “We’ve only got the one bed down here.”

The room was clearly the domain of a healer. There was a bed pushed against the far wall, and a bench along the side covered in glass jars, dried herbs and a number of carefully organized tools Goodnight didn’t recognize. The snow outside pressed hard against the window, but they still felt no chill thanks to a small potbellied stove that was already full of fuel.

“Please lie down, Mr. Indigo,” Miss Gloria said, stoking the fire until a cheerful blaze was born. She closed the iron door, and gave her hands a dusting on her dress. “You need sleep more than you need anything, but I’d also like to get a poultice on your chest and something warm to drink in your stomach.”

Billy gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, and locked his hands together between his spread knees. Miss Gloria walked to him, and pressed a hand to the back of his forehead. Her hands slid slower, and she let them rest on either side of Billy’s throat.

Goodnight was outright hovering over Miss Gloria’s shoulder. Billy lifted his head to give Miss Gloria better access, but also so that he could give Goodnight a look so flat and so dry it could have turned an entire Louisiana swap into a stretch of desert. Goodnight did not stick out his tongue because he was a grown man, and a war veteran, and much too dignified to engage in such activities.

Billy sneezed, turning his head in time to keep from showering Miss Gloria’s face. It caused an impressive stretch of snot to fly from his nose, and land in his hair and hands. He grimaced.

Miss Gloria straightened, and nodded to herself.

“Strip down and get under those covers, Mr. Indigo,” she instructed. “I need to put water on the boil and get a few things from the storage room, but I’ll be right back.”

She closed the door soundly behind her, and once Goodnight was confident she would be gone for the foreseeable future he crossed the room, and put his hands on Billy’s shoulders. Leaning down he pressed his forehead against Billy’s, and turned to kiss his cheek and nuzzled against his head.

“You don’t want to do that,” Billy complained even while his arms went around to squeeze Goodnight’s waist. “I just sneezed into my hair.”

Goodnight shrugged. “You sneezed into my face last week.”

“I did not sneeze into your-! It doesn’t matter. She’ll be back.”

“I’ll hear the floorboards creak long before she opens that door,” Goodnight said softly. “I’m not worried.”

Billy huffed, and reached up to trace the shell of Goody’s ear. “Bullshit. I can feel your brain spinning you’re so worried. Smoke is going to come pouring out of your ears soon.”

“I’m am not worried. You sneeze into your hair all the time. Remember what it was like before you got that hair pin under control? Used to tangle something terrible.”

“Goodnight-"

“Just please listen to the nice bee keeper when she comes back,” Goodnight begged. “I’ll brush Indigo’s coat to a shine everyday for the next three weeks if you’re a good patient. Please?”

“I’m always a good patient,” Billy grumbled against Goodnight’s stomach. “You’re the terrible one."

"Billy-"

"I'll listen," Billy promised. "And you don't even need to offer anything. Indigo likes you, but only I get to brush her.”

Goodnight rolled his eyes. “Gee, and here I’ve been so worried about that horse’s opinion on me. Come on, _cher_. Let me help you with your shirt.”

 

 

As it turned out, Miss Gloria did own a stethoscope, and it was one of the first things to appear out of a neatly organized black bag that she'd retrieved. Somewhere between listening to Billy’s heart, and frowning at whatever she heard after asking him to take several deep breaths Miss Alice came into the house stomping her boots, and slamming the door shut.

“Alice,” Miss Gloria called. “Could you be a dear, and pour Mr. Indigo a cup of tea? Water should be on the boil by now.”

Moments later Alice appeared with a whole tray of full mugs along with an empty bowl, several cloves of garlic, a hot water bottle and several long strips of clean cloth.

“The whole house didn’t smell like garlic,” Alice said. “So I'm guessing you haven't made the poultice yet.”

Miss Gloria smiled fondly, and plucked a mug off the tray that she handed to Billy. “I hadn’t, and thank you for noticing. Now, Mr. Indigo. I want you do drink this entire mug down, and then after we get that poultice on your chest try and sleep. Your feet look well bandaged, but we’ll look at them in the morning and see if a salve is needed.”

She turned to Goodnight, and handed him a second mug. “Drink yours as well, Mr. Chisolm. You were out in that cold for quite a while, and the night has been far too exciting. We’ve got an extra room upstairs where you can sleep.”

Goodnight swallowed a mouthful of tea (ginger and lemon with an extravagant douse of honey), and shook his head.

“Oh there’s no need for that. You’ve done more than enough. I’m just fine spending the night in here. I can bunk on the floor.”

“On the floor?” MIss Alice exclaimed. A strong smell of garlic slid through the room she diced and crushed away at the workbench. “It’s winter! It’s freezing on the floor. Why are both of you so excited to freeze to death?”

“It’s really no trouble,” Goodnight said, feeling as though he were once again quickly losing ground.

“I’ve instructed Mr. Indigo to sleep,” Miss Gloria said. “But I’ll be checking on him several times tonight to make sure his fever is under control. You’ll get no rest at all between the hard wood, the cold and my movements. You will also be in my way, and I must insist you take the bed upstairs.”

“You’ll be the one who’s sick next if you don’t show this weather some proper respect,” Miss Alice added, dumping the small bits into a mortar. She added steaming water, and oil before picking up the pestle. “You already look exhausted.”

“ _Sam_ ," Billy said, pressing far too much weight onto Goodnight's borrowed name. "Go lie down before you fall down.”

“Take your own advice,” Goodnight shot back.

“I did,” Billy said. “I’m in a bed.”

Goodnight had no response to that, and settled for giving Miss Gloria and Miss Alice his most pleading, hang-dogged looked. The kind that used to get him extra desserts, and one more story before bed when he was a boy.

Miss Gloria took a calming sip of her tea. Miss Alice rolled the pestle around the rim of the bowl creating her pungent paste, and Billy winkled his nose and promptly sneezed again.

“Glory,” Alice said. “Show Mr. Chisolm upstairs, and I’ll finish making this for Mr. Indigo.”

Miss Gloria appeared next to him, and offered Goodnight her elbow. He gave her a lopsided smile, took the not so subtle invitation, and let her lead them both into the front room.

“Remember,” he called, turning to throw one last plea in Billy’s direction. “You promised.”

Billy saluted him with his mug, and then sank back into the bedding. Goodnight took that as a good sign.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a window at the top of the staircase, and through it Goodnight could see the snow falling hard and heavy. A snowstorm like this could last all night or it could last all week, and Goodnight suddenly felt a fool for even thinking they should be trundling through it.

Miss Gloria led him to the first hall door, and opened it to show off a guest room furnished with a with small desk and a bed that Goodnight hoped he’d get some use out of.

“Alice and I share the room to the left, and Henry is just down the hall,” Miss Gloria said. “Chamber pot is under the bed. Even with the lead rope I don’t suggest you try for the outhouse until this storm has blown past.”

Goodnight resolutely did not raise an eyebrow at ‘Alice and I share the room to the left.’ There could be any number of explanations for their shared space, but still. There was a feeling in his gut when the two of them interacted. He was fully aware that there were women in the world like him and Billy. He’d even met a few, but they weren’t all that easy to suss out. It was his experience that if most people were unable to conceive of him and Billy, then trying to get them to imagine two women, independent of men and with no desire to find one was about as likely as getting them to believe that cats held court on the moon. He wondered if society’s near blindness was a protection or a prison for those women? He wondered if he’d ever get the chance to ask one of them.

He thanked Miss Gloria for the hospitality, and then gently closed the door behind her. Collapsing atop the quilts he pulled the mess of blankets over himself, not even bothering to undress, and let the weight of his worry, exhaustion, and anxiety sink him into a deep dreamless sleep.

In the sick room below, Billy Rocks had also dropped into a sleep so all consuming that even the garlic poultice Alice had draped over his chest caused him no trouble.

They were good sleeps despite the fact that they were apart from one another, but even if insomnia had come knocking they wouldn’t of heard what was whispered just outside of the sick room door. Alice and Gloria were mistresses of their home, and knew all of its ins and outs. All of its creaks and moans, and silent places. They knew which corners were best for secrets, for lovers, for sensitive information. And even though Alice was a rattled woman she had never been a stupid one.

So it was in front of the burning fireplace with a fresh piece of kindling popping, and spitting small embers against the back brick that she brought Gloria’s face close to hers, and told her the news .

“They’re in the barn Glory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who knows how to make a poultice now?


	6. Chapter 6

Goodnight woke up drenched in sweat and cocooned in a startling number of quilts. He’d dreamed badly, and though the details of the dream were lost to him a lingering anxiety clung to his thoughts like an early morning dew. He was also alone, and it was that realization that pushed him fully into the waking world.  

Though caution was always the name of the game, and there were days when he and Billy were separated, the nights they spent apart were few and far between. The lack of Billy’s warm arms around his chest, Billy’s breath on the back of his neck, Billy’s incredibly icy feet kicking against his legs had Goodnight struggling into a sitting position as the memory of where they were and how they’d gotten there resurfaced.

Outside the wind still howled, and the snow still fell. The world in the small bedroom felt unchanged enough that as Goodnight got to his feet he wondered if any time had passed at all. If the rest of his days were going to be nothing but one long gloom drenched night that he'd never truly escape.

He scrubbed his face with the back of his hand, and wished for clean water to splash across his cheeks. This was not the time to sink into melancholy. These were only dark thoughts brought on by a night spent reaching with body and soul for Billy, and flailing at the dark empty space where his partner should have been. 

He twined his gun belt around his waist, settled his hat atop his head and headed downstairs toward the light.

The fire was roaring in the main room, but no one was there to occupy it other than Bluebell. The dog thumped its tail against the floor a few times, but made no move to get up when Goodnight passed. The door to Billy’s sick room was closed, and Goodnight was heading toward it his steps creaking loudly across the floorboards when Ms Gloria called to him.

“Mr. Chisolm, we’ve got some coffee here if you’d like.”

Her voice floated in from a room that had been nothing but a dark empty maw of space the night before. Now it was lit up by a cook stove fire, and enough lamps that a soft honey-gold glow stretched across the floorboards. He’d been correct in guessing it was the kitchen. A long steel stove took up half the wall, and Ms Gloria was standing right next to what he guessed was the entrance to the root cellar where a good number of their food stuffs would be kept in the cool dark under the house.   

She was cradling a cup of coffee between her gloved hands, and a pair of copper wire spectacles were balanced on her nose. There were new bags under her eyes, and she looked as tired as Goodnight felt which meant that Goodnight probably looked like he was one strong sneeze away from death.

“Don’t tell him we have eggs,” Ms Alice called from even further into the room. “I wanted eggs, and we only had two left.”     

“He’s standing right here, Alice. He can hear you,” Ms Gloria said.

There was a pause.

“Good morning, Mr. Chisolm,” Alice called. “Apologies for our lack of eggs, but we do have delicious honey on fresh bread. Much better than eggs.”

Goodnight shot a glance to the sick room door. What he wanted was Billy, but being rude to his hostesses was an ill-advised idea. Especially since the only other option included snow, ice and frost bite.

“If you like,” Ms Gloria said. “You could bring Mr. Indigo his tea when you’re done. The water’s almost ready.”

That sounded much better, and despite his desire to see Billy his stomach was very insistent that it should be attended to first. He’d be in much better spirits if he ate something. Goodnight plastered a charmed, pleasant smile over his face, and head into the kitchen.

“Well that sounds like a plan,” he said. “I don’t know quite how to thank the two of you for all of your kindnesses.”

He accepted the cup from Ms Gloria with a grateful nod, but it wasn’t until he turned to extend the thanks to Ms Alice that he saw the others.

While in main room, he’d thought the kitchen to be a small space just large enough for a stove and supplies. No that he stood in the kitchen proper he saw that the room was not only double the size he’d assigned it, but being used as the dining room as well. There were long glass windows all along the far wall that would no doubt be opened in the event of a cooking mishap, and would have filled the room with sunlight on a normal day. Today they only showed a peek into the cold, dark fields that would gladly swallow any of them whole if they ventured outside.

Under the windows was a long table that was bracketed on either side by benches. Sitting at the head of the table was Ms Alice with a plate of fried eggs, and an empty cup of coffee at her elbow. Sitting on the benches were five women, all wearing pants that Goodnight was fairly certain hadn’t been there the night before.

 _They’ve found me,_ Goodnight thought. _This charade is over._ _Those bastards from town marched through a god damn snow storm to drag me, and my ridiculous reputation on some wild goose chase! I won’t do it! They can’t make me! I have_ tea _to deliver!_

“It turns out you weren’t the only fool who thought they could wrestle a blizzard,” Ms Alice said around a mouthful of egg. “Didn’t any of your mothers teach you to respect the weather?”

One of the women, a dark-skinned black woman with thickly braided hair, snorted loudly. The large woman sitting to her left narrowed enormous cornflower blue eyes, and looked Goodnight up and down as though he was a fat trout just pulled up from the lake. The third, a tiny little slip of a thing with a pale white face full of freckles, picked up her butter knife with a grip that sent a warning bell off in Goodnight’s mind.

The last two had their backs to him, but only one, a Chinese woman with some of the longest hair he’d ever seen, turned around. She didn’t just twist, and peer over her shoulder. She turned her entire body, bringing her feet to land squarely on the floor, and brought her breakfast plate along for the ride. She gently elbowed the woman next to her, who glanced at Goodnight with complete disinterest, before going back to her own meal.  

Goodnight gapped openly at the group, and looked helplessly to Ms Gloria. She shooed him in the direction of the table.

“Please sit down Mr. Chisolm. I’ll let you know when the tea is ready. These ladies got separated from their wagon train, and showed up not an hour after you’d fallen asleep. Isn’t that a piece of luck?”

The Chinese woman raised an eyebrow at him as she dipped the corner of her bread into a pool of honey. She smiled gamily, and then extended her hand to the empty spot of bench next to her as she chewed.

“Sit down,” Alice said. “They won’t bite you.”

The freckled girl snapped her teeth.

“Ahh, sure,” Goodnight said.

He decided to take the square of offered bench, it was the farthest he could get from the small girl’s teeth, and sat down. There was a particular smell around the table, fire and smoke, and Goodnight wondered if Ms Gloria had something else cooking on the stove.

A crunch filled the air, and he watched as Alice bit into a slice of toast so burnt that bits of ash drifted to her plate like snowflakes. Well, that was one mystery solved.

“You want your bread toasted?” she asked. “Stove’s still lit if you want.”

“No, no. I’m fine.”

Alice shrugged, and went back finishing off her coveted eggs.

“Good morning ladies,” Goodnight said to the rest of the table. “My name is Sam Chisolm. It’s very nice to meet all of you.”

Almost as one, the group glanced to the Chinese woman sitting to his right. She’d turned back around, and put her plate onto the table. Picking up her coffee cup she gave the slightest of nods.

“I’m Josephine,” the snorting woman with the braids said.  

Something was twinkling in those thick black braids. Every time she moved her head, and caught the lamplight the hair glittered. 

“Cornflower,” said the woman with the blue eyes.

 _Well that’s a nice coincidence_ , Goody thought as he brought the coffee cup to his lips. 

Freckled girl was slathering a glob of honey over her bread with an intensity that was quickly freezing Goodnight’s smile into a forced stiff thing. She didn’t look up for her introduction. “Cherry, and that’s Nina and Queen Ann that you’re sharing wood with.”

Goodnight choked on his coffee.

“Cherry, I can introduce myself,” the Chinese woman said.

Like Henry, her accent was an American one, and it startled Goodnight for a second. He supposed it made a certain amount of sense. He and Billy were well into their forties, but not one of the new women at the table looked older than twenty-five. In fact, he’d call Cherry a liar if she said she was a day past seventeen. By now there were plenty of youngsters whose parents had been the ones to make the terrible journey across the sea. He should prepare himself for a new generation of folk who looked different than him, but spoke with a much more familiar accent. Lord he was getting old.

Goodnight reached for a slice of bread, and spooned a generous amount of honey out of the jar. The sticky-sweet smell made him think of warmer seasons, a riot of blossoming wildflowers and bright sunshine.  

“You can,” Cherry agreed. “But I know Nina don’t like talking, and it sounds better if someone else introduces you. More-” she paused searching for the right word.

“Dignified?” Josephine offered.

“No,” Cherry said. “What’s a word that means fear causing? That one. Bet he knows. Tell me what word means ‘fear causing’, Mr. Chisolm.”

“Oh, I’m sure I won’t have any reason to fear you ladies,” Goodnight said with a chuckle.

It died in his throat at the look the little group gave him. Alice raised her eyebrows comically at him over her coffee cup.

“Mr. Chisolm, the tea is ready,” Ms Gloria called.

Goodnight leapt up from the bench, and began to back away.

“Well, it was lovely meeting all of you, maybe we’ll all get a game of cards started later, but I have some matter to attend to so I’d best be tending to them.”

“Don’t you want to finish your breakfast?” Alice asked.   

Goodnight shoved the entire slice of honey-sweetened bread into his mouth, bowed, and turned to collect the needed tea. Pearls of laughter followed him as he rushed out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Billy was awake, but not alone when Goodnight entered the sick room.

Henry, a small butterball of a child if Goodnight had ever seen one, was wrapped in even more sweaters than before, and talking animatedly to him.

“The keeping of bees is all very good, but I am very excited to get back to the business of the dead. I have been reading quite a few of the books in the library since coming to visit grandma and Ms Gloria, and have decided to see if papa would be up for offering the type of service Egyptians were so fond of performing on their dead.”

Billy was sitting up, and cradling a steaming mug of tea in his hands. He blinked several times.

“Mummification?”

Henry beamed. “Yes! That’s the one! Mama probably will not like it. She’s very uneasy around the squishier bits of a human being. It’s why she never took to Ms Gloria’s midwifery, and sometimes when I bring her ideas she’ll say, ‘Henry, we’re Christians now, and such activities are not found in the Bible so I would ask that you not engage in them.’  What do you think?”

Billy looked lost, and quickly took a swallow of his piping hot tea to buy himself time. He didn’t grimace, and Goodnight felt a swell of pride bubble in his chest. Lord he did love Billy.  

“I thought I was delivering the tea,” Goodnight said.

He came fully into the room, and a soft, pleased look slid over Billy’s face at the sight of him.  It was darker in the sick room that back in the kitchen with only the small fire in the pot-bellied stove to break up the shadows, but to Goodnight the little room became the brightest space in the house.  

 _Give_ _me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling_

“Oh no, sir. I handled that,” Henry said seriously. “I got up extra early to make Mr. Indigo this cup here in the sick room.” Sheepishly he looked back to Billy. “I am sorry for waking you up in the process. Sick people need rest or else they end up needing my father’s attentions more than Ms Gloria’s is what grandma likes to say.”

“It’s fine,” Billy said. “The tea makes me feel better.”

Henry smiled happily at the confirmation.

“Henry,” Goodnight said. “I want to have a few words with my partner here. Why don’t you go get yourself some breakfast?”

Henry nodded vigorously, and offered the empty stool to Goodnight.

“Why thank you young man.” He waved Henry toward the door. “Go on. Get yourself a full stomach. Though if you had your heart set on eggs I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

Henry closed the door firmly behind him, and Goodnight set his own cup of tea on the work bench to cool. Then he picked up the stool and marched it over to the door where he set it up in front of the entrance. Anyone coming in would knock it over, and buy him precious seconds in case he needed to move away from Billy quickly.

“I don’t think you’ll need that,” Billy said. “I think Alice and Gloria are….”

“Yeah, I got that feeling too,” Goodnight said. “But better safe than sorry.”

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Hello, _cher_ ,” he said, and leaned in to kiss his temple. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Billy said. “I’m still coughing, but the tea helps.”

“And what a fine cup of tea it is,” Goody teased. “It’s nice to see you get the admirer for once. You’ve certainly captivated young Henry.”

“My knives did most of that,” Billy said.

“Oh I don’t think that’s the only thing that’s caught his attention,” Goodnight said. “If a dashing, young -”

“I’m forty-five. We’re both forty-five.”

“-cowboy had come waltzing into my house when I was his age, all covered in midnight and secrets well I would have been waking up early to make him tea too.”

Billy leaned his head on Goodnight’s shoulder. His hair had come lose from the leather thong that kept it up, and the hair pins had been stowed away with his knife belt. Goody ran a gentle hand through it.

“You were a very friendly child,” Billy said. “I would have tried to kick him. I hated strangers.”

Goodnight laughed, and curled closer.

“Kiss me real fast?”

“You’ll get sick.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do. With our luck I’ll get better just as you get sick. Then all we’ll be doing is swapping beds.”

Goodnight chuckled. “I suppose it would be rude to impose on the bee keepers for longer than absolutely necessary. Two strange cowboys residing at their home and place of business might start any number of rumors. Cause quite a scandal. Suddenly they’ll be folks insisting we save their good name and marry them. We throw a double wedding that would make Jane Austen proud.”

“And swap spouses before we go to bed each night,” Billy grumbled. “I’m not staying in this place come spring. I don’t like bees.”

Straightening, Billy lifted his head and pulled both of Goodnight’s hands toward him. Goodnight pressed his thumbs into Billy’s naked palms, enjoying the feel of his partner’s hands without the scratch of his fingerless gloves.

“Here. A compromise,” Billy said.

He kissed the inside of Goodnight’s wrists. He kissed the palm of each hand, and then darted forward to kiss Goodnight once on the nose.

“Your hands taste like honey.”

“Leftover breakfast,” Goodnight said. “You hungry?”

Billy shook his head, and winced. “No. I just want to go back to sleep.”

Goodnight hummed in understanding, and leaned in close to press his mouth to Billy’s ear.

“If you need to sleep then you should sleep, but before you do I have one bit of business that I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Your mustache is tickling my ear. It’s nice.”

“I’ll be quick. You remember our grand plans of avoiding any trouble or heroism?”

Billy squirmed a little closer, and yawned. “Yes.”

“Are you still dedicated to that idea? I have no interest in playing hero, but if you want me to play sidekick I will.”

“I-” Billy cleared his throat, and coughed into his hands. He didn’t sound any better than he had the night before, and Goodnight wrapped both arms around him until he was finished. “Don’t talk in riddles. My head hurts. I’m sick. Use little words. Speak clearly.”

“I’m sorry, darling. It’s just that I don’t want you to get all riled up over something we might be keen to ignore.”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“Well,” Goodnight said. “Now don’t panic or anything, but I suspect that the group that burned down the Minnow is sitting in the bee keeper’s kitchen right now having breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line of poetry that floats through Goodnight's mind at seeing Billy is Walt Whitman. It's a line from Leaves of Grass: http://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1867/poems/184
> 
> -I spent a lot of time muttering "How many stoves would this place have? Is this too many stoves?" while typing this. So if I've given them enough stoves/fire places that in reality you know they'd burn the place down.....just pretend like I didn't do that. We're all agreeing to believe that this is the correct amount of stoves.
> 
> -I have grand plans of finishing this by January. We'll see how that goes.


	7. Chapter 7

“ _Cher_ , please sit back down.”

Billy’d scrambled to his feet with a speed and intention that left Goodnight with empty arms, and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“I told you not to panic. Damn it this is not good for your feet.”

Billy stopped, and took a slow, wobbly circle of the room.

“Your knife belt is in the main room hanging on a peg alongside my rifle, and our coats. Remember?”

Scowling, Billy glared at Goodnight, and then marched over to the sick room bench where he collected the small knife Miss Alice had used the night before to carve up slices of garlic.

“ _Ma belle_ ,” Goodnight sighed, settling back against the sheets. “Not that I am against watching you strut around a room with nothing but your drawers and a sense of purpose, but what is your end goal here?”

“Finding my pants,” Billy said.

“And then?”

“Getting our horses.”

“After that?”

“Riding!” Billy jabbed the small knife at the wall. “Away!”

Billy pulled the knife closer for inspection, and then went back over to the bench where he began to search through the drawers and shelves.

“Great you don’t want to play hero,” Goodnight said. “I was concerned for a second.”

With a whetstone in one hand and the knife in the other Billy collected the stool Goodnight had left in front of the door, and sat dutifully at the bench. He poured the cooled cup of tea Goodnight had left over the stone, and then scrapped the small blade against its surface.

Standing, Goodnight crossed the room, and put his hands on Billy’s shoulders.  

“It’s always fun when you make a plan. They’re always so practical, but there are a few holes in this one.”

Goodnight laid his hand on Billy’s cheek. “First, you are still as hot as a bright July day. Second, the elements would devour us before we traveled so much as a mile, and third I do believe the bee keepers took your pants somewhere to be washed and mended.”

Billy considered this, his hands never slowing from their steady work. “They’re nice. The beekeepers. I like them. You’re right. New plan. You get your gun. I get my knives, we throw the bandits outside and let the blizzard take them.”

“Blood sacrifice, huh,” Goodnight said. “It would be rather poetic if feeding the storm a few human souls calmed it right down. How very old fashioned of us. Would it give you any pause if I told you that the group that burnt down the Minnow was a group of ladies?”

“Nope,” Billy said.

He lifted the knife from the wet stone and inspected the edge.

“Really?”

Billy twisted on the stool, and Goodnight took a step back. Reaching out Billy wrapped his arms around Goodnight’s waist, and pulled him forward until he stood between the V of Billy’s legs. Goodnight ducked his head down until their noses brushed. Billy was looking at him with a fond if exasperated expression.

“Sometimes,” he said. “I think you forget that you don’t live in polite society anymore.”

“Oh come on,” Goodnight said. “I am fully aware that women can be as dangerous as men. They weren’t exactly the picture of gentleness back home either. I’ve told you about my sister?”

“Yes, she sounds horrible,” Billy said. “But was she horrible and armed?”

“She kept a garden full of poisonous plants,” Goody said. “Just because she never got to carry a rifle doesn’t mean she wasn’t well-versed in human suffering.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have a blind spot for the women who live out here,” Billy said. “You left some of our weapons in the front hall! Would you have done that anywhere else?”

Goodnight huffed. “Maybe I am just a mite bit softer, and more trusting when it comes to the fairer sex.”

Billy laughed which turned into a cough, and he twisted away from Goodnight to get back to the knife.

“But you can’t deny that most of the women we run into have just been beat into the ground by life out here, and deserve-.”

“The respect of believing they’ll fight just as hard for their lives as I would for mine,” Billy said. “And that I might have to shoot them before they shoot me. The only bounty hunter that came close to bringing me in was named Molly Tanzer. Is she alive? I don’t know. I put a knife in her side, and pushed her into a river. But I bet she crawled out of that river and is doing fine.”

“Alright, alright,” Goodnight said. “Old habits die hard. “

“Smother those habits with common sense,” Billy responded.

A conversation like this was one of the great joys of being with Billy, and under normal circumstances could have lasted them a full night. Hell, if they got really riled up an argument like this could have them spinning round one another for the rest of the month, and while Goody hoped they’d return to the subject at the moment they had bigger things to worry about.

“As refreshingly egalitarian as that conversation was. I’m still going to need both of you to put your hands up.”

The first being that they were no longer alone. 

Billy whipped around, and threw the small knife. It hit the wall a solid foot away from Miss Gloria with a thump, and then clattered to the ground.

The bee keeper was peering at them behind her copper spectacles, and holding a rifle in her hands.

“Miss Gloria,” Goodnight said, his hands reaching for the ceiling. “What offense have we caused?”

“Well, for starters Mr. Indigo just threw a knife at me,” she said.

“You should keep your tools sharper,” Billy snapped. There was a very slight dusting of pink stretching across his cheeks that Goodnight was fairly certain wasn't his fever's fault. “If that had been sharpened properly it would gone right into the wood.”

“You meant to hit the wall?” Miss Gloria asked.

“Of course not!” Billy said, and then he was coughing again. A sick wet sound that had Goody wondering of Billy’s lungs had melted sometime during the night, and he was now in the process of hacking them up.

Billy’s knees buckled and his hands shot back to grab onto the bench. Goodnight took hold of his arm, and the two of them struggled to keep Billy from hitting the floor. Miss Gloria didn’t move, but the barrel of the shotgun followed their movements.  

When Billy’d finished his face was red, and his eyes were wet.

“Both of you walk into the parlor,” Miss Gloria instructed. “Mr. Indigo, please move slowly you’re still unwell and injured. If you both weren’t under suspicion I’d be hustling you right back into bed. Mr. Chisolm, assist your friend, but before you do unwind your gun belt and hand it over.”

It was Goodnight’s experience that when a gun was pointed at one’s face it was best to listen to instructions. He handed the holster over, and then slid an arm around Billy’s back. Together the two of them moved out of the sick room with Miss Gloria at their backs.

The entire group was waiting for them around the fire, and as Goodnight settled them both onto the love seat he saw the gleam of steel and iron in the firelight. All five of the women from the breakfast table were armed, and silent as they watched two of them settled down. Goody spotted Henry peeking into the room from the kitchen with Bluebell next to him, and Miss Alice was waiting by the fireplace. She fed a few logs into the crackling heat, and then collected a pistol from the mantle.

“See what happens when you leave your rifle in the front hall,” Billy said softly.

“You missed a knife throw from five feet away. You really want to do this now?”

Billy coughed into his hands. Goodnight thought it sounded suspiciously light in comparison to his previous fits, but still kept one hand on his bicep just in case he went pitching forward off the couch.

“Gentleman,” Miss Gloria said coming to stand next to Miss Alice. “We mean you no harm, but we also have no interest in allowing you to harm us. It’s come to our attention that you are not who you claim to be.”

Goody’s fingers tightened around Billy’s arm.

 _This is what you get from trying to run from your name_ a small sinister voice informed in. _Your name is your curse, and you must bear the brunt of it._

“You’re Sam Chisolm?” Miss Gloria asked motioning to Goodnight. “Duly sworn warrant officer from Wichita, Kansas, and a licensed peace officer in the Indian territories, Kansas, Nebraska and seven other states?”

“Ladies,” Goodnight started. “I can assure you that-”

The gun, which Miss Gloria had previously been pointing at the floor, came up again.

“Is that your name, sir?”

Next to him, Goodnight felt Billy go relaxed and still. To strangers it would seem that Billy was always relaxed and still, but Goodnight knew better. He’d seen him jump and dance. Seen him run and holler. Seen every expression under the sun filter across his face, and he knew the difference between his normal protective mask, and the stillness that came before he sprang into action. Though usually when he sprang into action he wasn’t coughing up his lungs, and running a high fever.

“It is,” Goodnight said.

“Liar!” Cherry snapped from behind the couch.

Queen Ann was settled on the arm of a fat chair, and she was watching the two of them with an axe resting across her lap.

“Cherry’s right,” Queen Ann said.  “You are a liar. A few of us met Sam Chisolm. I’d say it was-oh three four years back. There was a nasty bit of business happening down in Rock Falls, that’s about a two day trip from Burnt Fish. Some sorry excuse of a man thought he could go around beating up the saloon girls.”

She smiled, and it was a sharp, angry thing that showed far too many teeth.

“There wasn’t even a warrant out for this man, hell, there wasn’t even a complaint out about this man. Not a real one the sheriff would listen to. Town’s folk don’t really care how the local painted cats are being treated. The men just want them there, and the women can’t decide if they’re a help since they distract their husbands while they’re trying to heal up after giving birth or sin incarnate. But the madam she cared, well she cared that the bruising was bringing down the price, and so she went out and found herself solution.”

Despite the ever present danger Goody couldn’t help, but be entranced by the story. How his name was so well known while Sam was wandering around the West delivering justice to the wicked was nothing short of an insult.

“It was the damnedest thing,” Queen Ann continued. “Not that he took care of it. Most men will do anything you want for the right amount of money, but he did it for a song. He did it for less money than it costs to buy a peppermint stick. And the girls, they just figured he’d be taking the rest of it out in trade, and tried to figure out which one of them he’d like, but he didn’t do that either. Sam Chisolm just solved the problem, took his money, tipped his hat and rode off into the sunset.”

From behind Cornflower, Goodnight could see Henry leaning so far into the room that he was in danger of falling on his face. If there hadn’t been a gun pointed at him, Goody would have taken a moment to truly appreciate it. Sam had that effect on people, and Goodnight never tired of experiencing it.

Queen Ann stood, and it was as though the rest of the women had been waiting for her cue. They moved as one closing in until there was nothing but the crackling fire, the circle of unfriendly faces and the couch to his back.

“You could say that I have a certain respect for the name Sam Chisolm, and the man who’s attached to it.”

Flinging himself over the back of the love seat was a terrible idea, and Goody couldn’t trust that he could hull Billy with him. They were trapped.

 _Shot by bee keepers, and then hacked into bits for the sin of wearing Sam’s name_ Goodnight thought. _What a way to go._

“If you are who you claim to be,” Queen Ann said. “Then you’ve certainly gotten a bit-”

She paused, and the rest of her group leapt in to help.

“Shorter.”

“Whiter.”

“Not nearly so distinguished looking with that terrible squirrel tail decorating your face.”

Scandalized, Goody’s hand came up to touch his facial hair.

“Thank you, ladies,” Miss Gloria said, raising a hand to call for quiet.

The little group looked to Queen Ann, and didn’t relax until she’d nodded along with Miss Gloria’s orders. Queen Ann hefted the axe into a more comfortable grip which did nothing for Goody’s blood pressure.

“Ladies-” Goody tried again.

“It’s time to come clean, sir,” Miss Gloria said.

“Tell us who you really are,” Miss Alice said. “We won’t throw you to the storm, but we can’t let you wander our home under false pretenses.”

Billy was getting tenser by the moment, and the general aura of tightly concealed violence he was radiating had Goodnight’s hair standing on end. This would not do. Billy was a fierce, scrappy, and terribly talented fighter, but every man had their limits. Missing targets that were only feet away, and wobbling in place seemed an indication that Billy had reached his.

Goody stood, and immediately regretted the action when the sound of several hammers cocking back on several guns popped through the air.

He reached for the sky.

“Ladies, ladies. Okay, you are correct. We have been lying about or identities, but I can assure you that we mean you no harm.”

“Likely story,” Josephine said.

“I hid my name from you,” Goodnight continued. “For fear of what you would think of me if you heard my real one. I wished to be a man before I was a reputation, and my name comes coated in thick layer of dust and story. It conjures up any number of reactions, and I only wished to escape it for the sake of me and my partner’s survival.”

He took his hat off, and held it in front of his chest.

“My name ladies, my true name, is Goodnight Robicheaux.”

A silence fell upon the room. The fire cracked and snapped, and light and shadow chased itself across the surrounding faces.

Nina, the silent woman from breakfast, moved into the light. Her brown hair was chopped short, and her muddy brown eyes were narrowed in confusion.  She turned to Josephine, and in a thick Russian accent asked;

“What the hell is ‘Goodnight Robicheaux?’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Using tea to wet a whetstone is 100% a bad idea. Billy knows better, but he also knows how to work with what he has in an emergency. 
> 
> -I have this entire backstory for Gloria, Alice, and most of Queen Ann's gang, but admittedly those get pretty dark because of certain elements attached to them. I will be brining some of that up, but this is my heads up to all of you that while I'll be mentioning dark things at its heart this is a fun adventure story, and I have no interest in changing that. (If you ever have any interest in asking me about it you could always visit me on Tumblr...or I just ask here.)
> 
> -Molly Tanzer did crawl out of that river, and she is doing just fine.


	8. Chapter 8

Hat in hand Goodnight stood before the beekeeping duo, and Queen Ann’s gaggle of terrifying sister’s-in-arms with his mouth hanging open, and his gargantuan vocabulary absent. He’d prepared himself for any number of reactions from the group, but flat out bafflement hadn’t been one of them. Nina, still waiting for an answer Goodnight wasn’t sure how to give, made a sound of frustration and turned her attention to her imposing leader. Queen Ann was looking to Miss Alice, who in turn had her attention focused on Miss Gloria, and Miss Gloria, her shot gun thankfully pointed to the floorboards, had her head tipped back, eyes in a squint as though she were seeing something from the long ago past ripple across her vision.

“Robicheux,” she muttered. “Where have I heard that name?”

“Was it on a wanted poster?” Miss Alice asked. “Because if it was on a wanted poster I want you to remember quickly. Focus Gloria.”

“Oh! Yes!” Miss Gloria’s head snapped down, and her gun came back up.

Billy made a strangled sound, and Goodnight felt his heart jump into his throat.

_Here it comes,_ Goodnight thought morosely. _The reckoning._

“Of the 51st Wisconsin Calvary?” Miss Gloria said. “You-no, wait. That’s not right at all.”

“He ain’t from Wisconsin,” Cherry said with an impressive eye roll. “He talks too funny.”

“I was born and bred in New Orleans, thank you,” Goodnight said primly.

 “Confederate then,” Miss Gloria said, her gun coming down as her chin tilted up to consult the ceiling again. The ceiling’s information must have been rather lacking because eventually Miss Gloria shook her head. “Well, I am sorry, but while the name sounds familiar I can’t say that I know from where.”

“Whether he was grey-back or blue-belly don’t matter to me,” Queen Ann said. “It doesn’t change the fact that he stole a good man’s name.”

“A good man who is a good friend of his,” Billy said.

“Bull,” Josephine said. “Sam Chisolm isn’t friends with some Louisiana confederate. Prove it.”

“Why of course,” Goodnight said. “I carry around a signed and sealed letter that says I am free to use Sam’s name whenever I see fit.”

“No, you don’t,” Cornflower said.

“Of course I don’t!” Goodnight said, exasperated. “That would be insane!”

“But he does have _letters_ from Sam Chisolm,” Billy said. “Because they’re old friends, and old friends write to one another.”

Miss Alice’s pistol hadn’t moved an inch since they’d taken a seat, and it was her that Billy passed this information to.

“There’s one dated two weeks ago in his bag,” Billy said. “It’s stuck in a book of Walt Whitman poems. Go ahead and see for yourself.”

Miss Gloria and Miss Alice exchanged a look.

“Henry,” Alice called. “Can you fetch me the saddle bags that are hanging in the front hall?”

Henry was a blur of green sweatered motion. He disappeared down the hall, and Goodnight heard a number of thumps and mutters before he returned with Goodnight’s weather-worn bag dangling over his shoulder.   

“Give them to Miss Gloria,” Alice instructed.

Miss Gloria traded the bags for the gun. Henry seemed a little unhappy to be pointing it at Goodnight, but he also didn’t hesitate or protest. There were few children out in the West who weren’t taught to handle weapons early if for no other reason than putting food on the table.

“I must admit,” Miss Gloria said as she gently pulled out the slim, green book. “Alice and I had a little bet going on whether or not you were a fan of this particular poet.” She peered at Goodnight over the rims of her copper spectacles with an interest that made Goodnight feel as though he were being reexamined. “It would appear that I owe Alice breakfast in bed.”

Goodnight suddenly missed saloons. Saloons full of drunk men, most of them dumber than bricks, who would buy him drinks for all of the horrible crimes against humanity he’d committed in his life, and never dream of saying anything that would make the great Goodnight Robicheux squirm.

Some of his discomfort must have been reflected in his face, because as she plucked one of the letters from between the pages Miss Gloria’s expression softened.

“I don’t mean to imply anything untoward,” Miss Gloria said. “I am quite the fan of Mr. Whitman’s words, and consider all those who can appreciate such a fine poet welcome in this household.”

“And as soon as she proves you aren’t an outlaw,” Alice said. “We can stop pointing guns at you.”

“Stop talking poetry,” Cherry complained. “I hate poetry! It’s stupid.”

“Cherry,” Queen Ann said sharply. “Don’t be rude.”

A blush the color of her namesake flashed over the small girl’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, Miss Gloria. I don’t mean no disrespect.”

“It’s quite all right, dear,” Miss Gloria said, her tone distracted as she scanned the letter.

Her eyes flickered from the page, and then to Goodnight and Billy. Wordlessly, she passed the letter to Queen Ann who hefted her axe to rest in one hand so she could accept it.

_“_ _Dear Goody_ ,” she read. “ _How you haven_ _’t vexed a barber into slitting your throat mid-shave I_ _’ll never understand. If you_ _’re that upset with the end result from your last shave then maybe you should just give into fate, and grow a nice long soup catcher_.”

Billy grimaced, and Goodnight mentally crossed ‘grow a big bushy beard’ off his list of future endeavors.

“ _I_ _’ve been traveling around Kansas this winter. It’s been a mild beginning, but the local farmers are predicting an avalanche of snow soon so I_ _’ll be headed Rose Creek tomorrow. It’s past time that I visited Miss Emma. Send word if you and that knife twirling partner of yours head that way. First drink can be on you. Your friend, Sam Chisolm._ ” 

“Satisfied?” Goodnight asked.

Queen Ann glanced to Billy. “He the ‘knife twirler’?”

“No, one of the horses is strangely talented with a blade,” Goodnight shot back. “Who else do-?!”

“Enough,” Miss Gloria said. She took the letter back, and carefully settled it between the book’s pages. “This is enough proof for me, and this is my home and business. I declare the matter settled. Mr. Robicheux, you and Mr. Indigo are welcome to stay.”

Billy cleared his throat. “While we’re being truthful my name isn’t Indigo. It’s Billy. Billy Rocks.”

That earned him the attention of everyone in the room.

“Are you someone famous too?” Cornflower asked.

“No,” Billy said. 

“Who’d you steal the name Indigo from?” Alice asked.

“My horse.”

“Oh!” Cherry cried. “What a fine name for a horse! I would have stolen that one too.”

Billy grinned, and Goodnight rolled his eyes.

“It is,” Billy said.

“I been thinking about changing my name,” Cherry said. “Can I be Indigo, Mr. Rocks?”

“Yes,” Billy said beatifically. “You can.”

“Dear lord,” Goodnight muttered.

“I understand him giving us a false name,” Miss Alice said, exasperated. “But why did you?”

“The townsfolk are searching for the women that burnt down the Blue Minnow Hotel,” Billy said. “We overheard them talking about recruiting us to help, and we were trying to give them the slip. Fake names seemed like a good way to keep them off our scent.”

Silence filled the room, and Queen Ann’s hands wrapped around the handle of her axe again as her expression became closed off and tight.

“I don’t recall anyone saying that the ones responsible for that fire were women,” she said. 

“That’s making a pretty big deal out of a fire where no one even die,” Cornflower added.

Billy blinked, and Goodnight’s gut twisted. They were saved by Miss Alice who turned away from the pair of them to glare at Queen Ann.

“I don’t recall telling you that there’d been a fire.” She rounded on Cornflower. “And since no one mentioned it, then it’s very odd that you know the death toll.”

The little group suddenly looked anywhere but the bee keepers. Out of the corner of his eye Goodnight spotted Josephine’s glittering hair again as it sparkled in the firelight. Miss Alice followed his gaze, and then marched over to have a better look.

Josephine glared at the older woman, but she was having a difficult time meeting her eye.

Miss Alice crossed both of her arms over her chest. “You have glass decorating your hair, Josephine. Is this the new fashion?”

Miss Gloria rounded on the lot of them, and to Goodnight’s absolute bafflement the group cringed.

“Oh you fools,” Miss Gloria said. “What on earth have you done?”

“Delivered justice,” Nina said, her words chipped and her accent thick.

“Henry,” Miss Gloria ordered. “Go upstairs.”

It was a testament to Henry’s survival skills that he didn’t argue, just bolted for the stairs. The sound of his footsteps stopped as soon as he reached the top. If he wasn’t listening in Goodnight would eat his hat.

“Let me guess,” Goodnight said. “You lot didn’t get separated from your wagon train after all.”

“Of course they didn’t,” Miss Gloria snapped.  “Oh my foolish girl. We agreed there were other ways.”

Queen Ann leapt to her feet. She radiated fury, but her weapon was set to the side.

“We agreed to nothing. You don’t understand. That hotel was ours, the lives we were going to build depended on it, and that god damn town took it from us. They thought they could just take what never belonged to them without consequence? Well, they were very, very stupid weren’t they?”

“You can’t make the world bend to your will,” Alice said. “Ann, I’ve told you before-”

“I am sick of hearing what you’ve told me before,” Queen Ann snapped.

“We offered you work here,” Miss Gloria said. “If they find out it was you where will the lot of you go? Will you run further West and fall right into the same profession you all worked so hard to crawl your way out of? That’s all that’s waiting.”

“So instead, we should have stayed here like good little girls, and walked by the hotel that was ours, that we _made_ for ourselves and never say ‘boo’ about it! Just let that town council, and that terrible women’s group run us out because they’re pretty morals won’t allow us to have lives we can control? You know if the lot of us had just wander over to the whore house looking for work not a one of them would have lifted a finger, but the minute we tried to do anything else they panicked. I refuse to roll belly up for those people. I won’t ever do that again.”

Queen Ann turned and fled to the kitchen. If there had been a door to slam Goodnight was sure it would have happened. Nina followed. Cornflower put her hands on Cherry’s shoulders, and gently steered the girl into the other room. Only Josephine stayed. The beekeepers both looked to be wearing several shades of the same misery, and Miss Gloria was removing her glasses to press the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Goodnight half expected Billy to start coughing again, but all he did was lean back against the love seat as though the last of his strength had been tapped from him like sap from a maple tree.

“You were asked to hunt for them,” Miss Gloria said, the heels of her hands still pressed into her eyes. “Why did you say no? This town is small, but for something like this they would have offered you a plum price.”

“It’s not really our business,” Goodnight lied.

_I can_ _’t stand the crack of a rifle or the idea of hunting down anything on two legs_ was what he didn’t say.

“Will you turn us in now that it is your business?” Josephine asked, a tired and weighty tone replacing the anger. “I know we were rash, but I don’t regret what we did. I won’t apologize. It was ours, and they stole it out from under our feet.”

“Technically it was Cornflower’s,” Miss Gloria said. “She was the only one of you we could get on the paperwork.”

“Maybe so, but it was still all of ours,” Josephine insisted, and it was to Goodnight and Billy that she spoke. Her eyes were large, and wet and to Goodnight’s horror a few tears slipped down her cheeks. “I am sorry that we put you in danger. We got so angry. We just-”

“No.”

It was Billy who answered. Head still tipped back and his eyes closed.

“No, we don’t need an explanation. I think we understand. The world bit you, and when you tried to bite back you took its whole head off. It happens.”

Goodnight wasn’t entirely sure he agreed, but he followed Billy’s lead anyway.

Miss Alice crossed the room, and took Miss Gloria’s hands in hers. She gently pulled them away from the other woman’s face and gave her wrists a squeeze. Miss Gloria smiled softly, and then looking to Josephine held her arm out.

“Come on now. None of that. It’s all worked itself out.”

Josephine didn’t take the offered embrace. She quickly scrubbed her cheeks clean. “It hasn’t though, Miss Gloria. We appreciate all you’ve done for us, but when this storms ends we’re leaving.”

“You don’t need to,” Miss Alice insisted.

“We do. Me and Ann were talking about it all night. There’s nothing for us here. Even if they don’t know for sure it was us do you believe they wouldn’t lay the blame at our feet? We can’t stay camping in those caves forever, and now we can’t stay here. We need to leave.”

“And go where my girl?” Miss Gloria said. “And go where?”

Josephine didn’t have an answer, and her face became so lost and frightened that it just about broke Goodnight’s heart to look at her.

“I know where you can go,” Billy said.

Four pairs of eyes flew to him. Not that he noticed since his head was still tipped back, and his own eyes were closed. If he hadn’t spoken, Goodnight would have thought he’d succumb to exhaustion and fallen asleep.

“How do you feel about farms and vengeful red heads?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really stuck on this chapter right up until I decided that this was post-Rose Creek. Then a bunch of things fell into place. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who is enjoying this story! Happy Easter!


	9. Chapter 9

Goodnight woke with a crick in his neck, and what could only be Billy’s ice cold feet pressed into his side.

 

Blinking sleepily at the ceiling he stifled a yawn, and then let his head roll to the side. They were both still on the love seat, and Billy’d buried his face into the back of the furniture which left his legs scrunched up next to Goodnight’s hip. The position looked so uncomfortable that Goodnight immediately went to work gently pulling at Billy’s legs until they were uncoiled and stretched across his lap.

 

Grumbling, Billy shifted with the movement until his head was draped over the armrest. The new position looked no more comfortable than the old position, but he rather liked being able to warp his hands around Billy’s ankles, and Billy himself continued to sleep. Goodnight supposed that a few muscle twinges were the least of their concerns. Billy could stretch himself out come morning.

 

He was resettling himself, all ready to drop back into sleep, when he noticed the distinct lack of noise. There was no wind howling around the cabin, and the building was no longer groaning as the elements made their assault. Stretching his neck, he looked to the small round window at the foot of the staircase, and humped angrily when he could deduce nothing from the sight. Ice had pattered itself across the surface, and the snow had completely blocked the glass.

 

“The snow’s stopped falling if that’s what you’re looking for, Mr. Robicheaux.”

 

Goodnight let his head fall forward as Henry came into view. The boy knelt by the low table in front of the love seat, and began to line up the strangest collection of jars Goodnight had ever seen. The body of each jar was plain enough, but the lids had been sculpted to look like the heads of different animals.

 

“I pulled the back door open after checking that everyone in the kitchen had a blanket,” he confirmed. “I don’t know if this means the storm is over for good, but it’s a nice afternoon surprise.”

 

Carefully setting the last of the four jars down Henry turned them so that each head face the two men on the love seat.

 

“Queen Ann and her ladies-in-waiting are making melted cheese sandwiches over the stove if you’d like one,” Henry said.

 

He held a smashed and blackened sandwich up as proof. The cheese was oozing off the edges, and coating the boy’s fingers.

 

“No, thank you Henry,” Goodnight said. “I can’t say I’m very hungry right now.”

 

Henry nodded, and took a large bite from the sandwich while also sneaking a quick look at Billy. A lesser man would have been jealous.

 

“How long have I been asleep?” Goodnight asked.

 

“Hours,” Henry confirmed. “Grandma and Miss Gloria retired to their rooms a while ago. All the yelling must have tired them out. They never retire this early.”

 

A red hot blush slipped its way down Goodnight’s face and neck. He coughed, and hoped Henry would blame the color on the heat from the fire.

 

Billy’s offer of Rose Creek and Emma Cullen’s farm had been delivered to the group via the bee keepers, and the row it had set off had made Goodnight glad to be in the other room. He remembered putting his head back, and wondering if he should try to bully Billy back into a proper bed when he’d fallen asleep himself. It had sounded like a very stressful meeting, and Goodnight was no stranger to what kind of stress relief was close at hand when you also had a lover and a locked door.

 

“What are those?” Goodnight asked desperate for a subject change.

 

Excitement washed over Henry’s face. He reverently laid one finger atop the head of what looked like a hawk. The jar next to it had what looked like a very human face, but Goodnight had trouble picking out the last two. The long ears of one made him think of a fox or maybe a cat, but the last had features so squished that it was unrecognizable.

 

“These are canopic jars,” Henry said. “I made them myself. They’re part of the mummification process.” 

 

“Which part?” Goodnight asked.

 

Henry bit his lip, and shot a look at the sleeping Billy. “I told Mr. Rocks that I’d explain it to him, and was waiting for him to wake up. I wouldn’t want him thinking I got excited and shared the information too early.”

 

“I’m sure he won’t mind,” Goodnight said. “And this way you can practice the speech on me before you give it to Billy. Iron out all the wrinkles.”

 

Henry nodded slowly, and then full on beamed at Goodnight.

 

“The canopic jars are buried with the sarcophagus, and they hold the deceased’s stomach, intestines, lungs and liver. It’s for safe keeping until whoever’s passed reaches the afterlife. The heads are supposed to represent the four sons for Horus, he’s an Egyptian god that looks like a Hawk, and they also represent the compass points.”

 

“Son,” Goodnight said gravely. “Please tell me you didn’t just set several internal organs atop Miss Gloria’s nice clean table.”

 

Henry’s eyes went very wide, and then he burst into joyful laughter. “There’s nothing in these jars yet Mr. Goodnight! I made these for Bluebell, and she maybe old but she’s not dead yet.”

 

Goodnight looked over to the gray muzzled dog who upon hearing her name had padded over to collapse next to Henry. She laid her head in the boy’s lap, and Henry scratched her gently behind the ears.

 

“You are not killing that dog,” Goodnight said firmly, and for a wild moment wondered if he’d completely misread this strange child.

 

Henry’s smile disappeared, and a look of horror replaced it.

 

“Of course not! Who would kill a dog? Or anything that’s not meant for the dinner table? I would never hurt Bluebell. She’s my friend. I’m just looking out for her soul.”

 

Goodnight wondered if he was still asleep. His hazy thoughts creating a terribly strange situation. 

 

“My mama is a Christian now, and believes that animals don’t possess souls,” Henry continued. “But I don’t see how that can possibly be true! So when Bluebell dies, and her soul shows up at Heaven’s pearly gates they might not let her in. And what if that’s just something they don’t talk about in church? All the dogs and cats waiting outside Heaven with no one to let them in?”

 

Henry looked so distressed by this idea that Goodnight prayed he’d been asked a rhetorical question, and wasn’t actually expecting an answer. All of Goodnight’s beliefs about the afterlife were terribly depressing.

 

“Now the Egyptians mummified all types of animals. Some as sacrifices, but mostly to keep them company in the afterlife. So I figure, if I’m in charge of Bluebell’s burial, and do the whole thing right then she’ll go to the Egyptian afterlife and be able to find some nice pharaoh to live with. I don’t suppose I can get anyone to mummify me when the time comes, but I figure that’s okay so long as she’s happy. She’s a good dog. Some old pharaoh will certainly want her to keep them company. Or maybe his wife will like dogs, and she’ll take her.”

 

The logic of this wasn’t completely lost on Goodnight, even as his tattered Catholic beliefs started shrieking at the idea. He soundly stomped that voice quite, but found there was nothing to replace it. Goodnight felt so very at sea in this conversation.

 

“At least that’s what I believe,” Henry said quickly. “I don’t require you to believe such things.”

 

“That is-” Goodnight paused. “There’s no jar for the heart?”

 

“No, the heart is where the soul lives,” Henry said. “It’s what they use to judge your deeds, and your soul knows where to head when everything is said and done so it doesn’t need one.”

 

Goodnight considered Henry. He rubbed his thumb into the flesh of Billy’s ankle careful to avoid the round jutting bone on the other side where he knew Billy was ticklish. Henry looked so pleased to be discussing this that Goodnight wondered how long he’d been working on these particular theological theories with no one to test the edges of it with. Someone should really make sure this boy ended up at a university.  

 

“Well,” Goodnight finally said. “That is certainly an idea.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The second time Goodnight woke he was nose-to-nose with Cherry.

 

Her hand slammed hard over Goodnight’s mouth which muffled his panicked shout, and Goodnight’s feet kicked out and collided with one of the jars Henry had left atop the table. The dog headed one wobbled, and tipped off the edge before shattering across the floor, the long ears disappearing under the fireplace.

 

Billy, still stretched across Goodnight, didn’t so much as twitch.

 

“There are folks at the door!” Cherry hissed softly. Up close he could see she had more freckles than he’d originally thought, and there was an old scar running up her jaw line. “Wake him up and move your ass!”

 

She disappeared from Goodnight’s view, and he heard quick footsteps as she rushed from the room. That was when he saw the bright wave of blood red sunlight spilling down the stairs. Lord, they’d slept the day away.

 

Groggy and stiff as he was Goodnight flailed for Billy shaking him hard as Miss Gloria ran into the room. A loud pounding from the door had her gritting her teeth. She pointed at the both of them, and then motioned to the sick room.

 

“I’m coming!” She called. “Just a moment!”

 

Alice was right behind her, but instead of heading for the door she ran to the love seat, grabbed Billy by the shoulders and shoved him into a sitting position.

 

Billy blinked owlishly at his surroundings, and Goodnight hauled him to his feet just as he heard the thump of a cellar door shutting from the kitchen. Three of Queen Ann’s girls ran across the room, and hit the stairs at a dizzying speed.

 

“You!” Alice said pointing to Billy. “Into the sick room bed and pull that blanket up to your face. If anyone asks you’re our winter help who’s caught himself a cold.” She rounded on Goodnight “You get under the bed, and don’t you dare make a peep.”

 

“What-” Billy looked out of sorts, sleep rumpled and far too adorable for be called any kind of assassin.

 

“Sorry honey,” Goodnight said, frog marching him to the sick room. He kicked the door closed and then dropped Billy into the bed.

 

Billy rubbed his face and took a look around as Goodnight grabbed his feet and swung them atop the mattress.

 

“Did we already check in?” Billy asked.

 

Goodnight blinked, and then put a hand on his partner’s forehead. Billy’s face was fever flushed, and the heat spilling off him confirmed what Goodnight had been waiting for since that infernal cough had shown up. He was suddenly very happy Billy’s knives were so far away. He always managed to hallucinate when he was truly ill. The last time he’d been convinced a bear was knocking on the door.

 

“Yep!” Goodnight said. “Checked right in, and now it’s time to get some well-earned rest. Lay back down.”

 

Billy maybe didn’t appreciate Goodnight throwing another blanket right over his head, but Goodnight could hear the door to the main house opening, and there were deep voices making the already taught tension in the air quiver. He hit the floorboards, as ice cold as Alice had promised, pulled his hat into his arms, and then slid under the bed pushing until he was against the far wall.

 

The mattress above him creaked, and then the lump above that had been Billy’s weight disappeared. The face of his partner appeared, and then Billy was siding in after him.

 

“Oh come on darlin’! I told you to lay down,” Goodnight hissed.

 

“Why are you hiding under the bed?” Billy asked. He looked so concerned that Goodnight fell in love all over again.

 

Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, Goodnight pulled Billy the rest of the way until they were both hiding in the dark. His back pressed against the freezing wood behind him meant they could both fit, and it helped that Billy wiggled closer until they were nose-to-nose.

 

“Did you have a nightmare?” Billy asked, completely sincere in his concern. “Is that why you’re hiding?”

 

“No. We owe a guy money, and we need to lay low,” Goodnight whispered. “I need you to stay quite.”

 

Even delirious with fever Billy’s eye roll was something to behold. “If he’s that much of a bother I’ll just go stab him. Stay here if you’re so worried about it.”

 

Goodnight grabbed Billy’s shirt front. “No, no, _cher_.” He breathed into his ear. “Stay right here with me. We don’t want that kind of trouble.”

 

“Is this like that that time in Waco?” Billy asked.

 

Goodnight nodded frantically. “Yes, just like that.”

 

A hand palmed him through his pants, and Billy’s lips found Goodnight’s neck.

 

“We don’t need to make it _exactly_ like that time in Waco!” Goodnight hissed.

 

Billy looked up at Goodnight through his eyelashes, and then grinned. Goodnight was torn between wanting to strangle Billy right then and there, and dragging him closer to he could kiss him senseless. 

 

“ _Later_!”

 

The door to the sick room creaked open, and they both went still.

 

Four pairs of shoes came into view. Miss Gloria’s, Henry’s, a large pair of black men’s boots, and a pair of smaller leather lace-ups that looks very impractical for the weather.

 

“If you’re so insistent on checking every inch of our home, then you must know that this is where our field hand-” Miss Gloria’s voice trailed off in confusion, and Goodnight hoped to god she was quick on her feet.

 

“Died,” Henry supplied. “It’s where he died last week. I was hoping that because he had no family to claim him that they’d let me attempt a mummification process on the corpse, but Grandma said that was a kind of thing we don’t do to people.”

 

“I don’t recall you mentioning a field hand last time we spoke, Gloria.”

 

Goodnight froze. He knew that voice. The woman from the barn, Miss Abigale which meant that the heavy pair of man’s boots had to belong to the Steven who’d insisted on accompanying her. How on earth had they gotten here? No one could have survived a journey in that storm. God he hated Burnt Fish Junction. Why was this little town so god damn _unsettling_.

 

“A recent addition to our little establishment,” Miss Gloria said, smooth as butter on bread. “Such a sad end. He was barely here a three weeks before illness took him.”

 

“Mummification?” Steven exclaimed. “Now what’s that young man?”

 

“Oh it’s a fascinating burial process!” Henry’s joy was so bright and infections that Goodnight found himself smiling into Billy’s hair. “Your main focus is really on the organs. Each of them get their very own jar for safe keeping, but first you have to pull the brain out of the skull. You go through the nostrils!”

 

The silence that followed was so delicious that Goodnight wished to god for a view of the good town’s folks faces.

 

“Henry, we’ve talked about you bringing mummification up with company,” said Miss Gloria. “Please excuse him Steven. He’s a bit excitable about the trade he’s learning.”

 

“But Miss Gloria, I’m only just starting,” Henry said. “I promise, I’m not be disrespectful, Mr. Fisher. It’s just a different way of handling the dead, and it’s a very detailed process. I have my tools here if you’d like to see!”

 

There was a shuffling, and then an awkward cough.

 

“Tell you what son. How about you tell me all about it the next time I see you. Miss Abigail and I are on a bit of a mission. I am sorry to hear about the loss of your farm hand, Miss Gloria, and for intruding. But I’m sure you understand.”

 

“He was a great help, but a bit chatty if you want my honesty opinion,” Miss Gloria said. “But of course. I always understand the ways of the town council. Now, if you’ll come this way I have some hot tea for you both to drink before you leave. How on earth did you make the journey here during such a snow fall?”

 

“Well, that’s a fascinating story actually,” Miss Abigale began.

 

The door slammed behind them, and Goodnight felt the tension slip from his shoulders. It was probably better that they stayed here until one of the bee keepers came to fetch them, and he was about to tell Billy that when his partner laid a hand right over Goodnight’s heart.

 

“Wait,” he said, sounding panicked. “Are we _dead_?”

 

Goodnight sighed. “We are _never_ coming back here. I mean it this time!”

 

“So….no?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I'm going to stop saying things like "I'll have this up tomorrow!" Because it always turns out to be a lie. 
> 
> -Henry isn't...wrong exactly about Egyptian burial, but I am still tempted to add the tag "Blatant disregard for Egyptian mythology". Though all of the stuff he talks about is stuff I've either learned about/brushed up on.
> 
> -Thank you as always to everyone who is reading, commenting and liking this. There won't be too much more of this. Maybe one or two more chapters.


	10. Chapter 10

“I have to say, that I am completely overwhelmed by an intense feeling of déjà vu.”

Goodnight settled a thick quilt over Billy, and then gently pushed him back against the pillows. A terrible glassy-eyed silence had replaced Billy’s delirious chatter, but he did nod in response which was promising.

“What’s this the third time I’ve gotten you into this bed? And not for anything fun either. Bet it feels good to get off that cold floor though. I know I wasn’t really having the best of times down there. Not that it’s ever the worst of times any place so long as you’re with me, but I’ve never been one to decide on the floor when there’s any other flat surface available.”

Billy’s teeth were chattering, and Goodnight turned to survey the room. There were several folded quilts off in the corner, and he marched over to pull one covered in blue and yellow squares off the top. He was fanning the extra layer over his partner when Miss Gloria bustled back through the door.

“I thought that sorry group of busybodies would never- what are you doing!?”

Goodnight froze. The quilt settled nicely over Billy’s chest, but tented above his legs where Goodnight still held the corners. Now that it was unfolded he could see that the quilt squares came together to from a giant white star in the center surrounded by blue and gold from all sides.

“He’s cold,” Goodnight defended.

“I am,” Billy agreed. “And we’ve checked in already. So I can use this.”

Miss Gloria pursed her lips at the declaration, and crossed the room to put her hand on Billy’s face.

“You were already aglow with fever, and all the excitement has made it worse. We have to cool you down, and so help me I don’t care if Mary Magdalene herself glides through the front door declaring forgiveness and love for all under this roof, you do not get out of this bed.”

She straightened, and then sighed. “I have never had a patient so insistent on getting up, and I have nursed Henry through a cold.”

Billy raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t respond.

Miss Gloria turned to Goodnight, and motioned toward the quilt. “You fold that back up, and I’ll get us some water and clean towels. Mr. Rocks we’re going to cool you down a little at a time. I’d like to keep you out of an ice bath if it can be helped.”

She didn’t close the door on her way out this time, and the late afternoon sunlight from the front hall seemed to mix with the light spilling in through the window above the work table.

“Ice bath?” Billy said. “No, tell her I want a hot bath. Like you’re getting.”

Goodnight settled on the edge of Billy’s bed. There was sheen of sweat gathered across his forehead, and Goodnight pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket to mop it away.

“I told you they’d wake her up to clean the mud off the carpet, and now she’s mad.  Tell her I don’t want an ice bath.” Billy leaned forward into Goodnight’s palm. “I don’t like the cold.”

Goodnight gave him a strained smile. “I will do my best, _cher_. I promise.”

*****

By moonrise the entire room reeked of garlic, mint and ginger root. Goodnight’s coat had joined the quilts in the corner, and own shirt and pants were soaked with a mix of water and sweat. Billy was thankfully asleep with a fresh poultice on his chest, a wet cloth on his forehead and a half-drunk cup of tea on the night stand. It was the latest in what was a never ending waterfall of liquids that Miss Gloria had forced into him, with the kind of stern gaze that made Goodnight wonder if ‘school teacher’ was one of her past professions. And while Billy had been repeatedly confused over the appearance of the ‘maid’ forcing yet another cup of broth into him, he hadn’t fought the nursing either.

Billy’s coughing was still concerning, and his fever still bright, but while Miss Gloria seemed concerned she never looked frantic. Goodnight clung to that as he sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. His body was exhausted, but his mind still whirled at a frantic, anxious speed and he didn’t expect sleep would visit him anytime soon.

He was considering the merits of closing his eyes, and trying anyway when a bowl of thick stew was thrust under his nose.

“There were carrots in there,” Queen Ann said. “But Cherry picked them out while she was ladling the stew into the bowl.”

“He’s old!” Cherry shouted from the living room. “He’ll die soon, and then Henry will finally have someone to mummify. What does he need all those fine carrots for?”

Ignoring her Goodnight took the bowl, and Queen Ann hopped up on the work table. She laid her ax over her lap, but then froze. With a scowl she rocked to the side to check under her rump.

“What did I just sit in?” she asked.

“Probably garlic,” Goodnight said. “Possibly a snot covered handkerchief.”

He grinned wolfishly, and drank from the bowl savoring the heavily seasoned broth.

“This town is a curse,” she muttered.

“On that we agree,” Goodnight said.

They sat in silence for a moment. The only sound Billy’s heavy breathing and Goodnight’s slurping.  When the stew was gone Goodnight set the bowl on the ground, and settled back into his chair.

“So,” Goodnight said. “What can I help you with your majesty?”

“I want to talk to you about your offer,” she said, picking up the knife that Alice and Miss Gloria had been using to chop garlic and onions. “You’re a real sweet talker. Got a silver tongue in that mouth.  I don’t trust a sweet talker. Most of the folks around here have two modes; silent judgment or hard truths. I much prefer the hard truths. It’s why I get along so well with the bee keepers.”

She ran her finger along the edge of the knife blade, and then put it back on the table next to the thin, papery bits of garlic skin.

“There’s only one real smooth talker in town, and he’s running my hotel. Him and his secret little friend.” She gathered the bits of garlic skin into her hand, and then crushed them in her palm. “You truly can’t fight city hall. Not when you enemy is fucking him three times a week.”

“I’m afraid my knowledge of the mechanics of Burt Fish Junction is somewhat lacking,” Goodnight said. “Which means your little hints at gossip don’t do much to clarify the situation surrounding me and mine.  I usually love a good riddle, but I am too tired to play cat and mouse, even if it’s with royalty. So how about this, you tell me what kind of mess I've stepped into, and I will answer any question you might have about the Promised Land of Rose Creek.”

Queen Ann studied Goodnight, looking him over from top-to-toe with a cool indifference. Her expression asked nothing of him. Held neither expectation nor awe, neither fear nor judgement, and Goodnight found the whole thing rather refreshing.

“You probably put together that we’re the girls from the whore house in that story we told you about Sam Chisolm,” she finally said.

Goodnight shrugged. He actually hadn’t. He’d been so preoccupied in the last 24-hours with the cold steel in his face, and his partner’s hot forehead that several connections he should have made had gone right over his head.

“It wasn’t a terrible life, expect when it was, but it wasn’t a good life either,” she said. “It was a surviving life. One day, the owner of the saloon we worked at, his name was Abel, up and died of a heart attack. Right there at the poker-table, and in-between the yelling, the screaming and the men making off with his winnings I saw Madam Charlotte taking all of this in, and I realized something. Abel was going to die and Madam Charlotte was going to take over, but past that not a god damn thing was going to change. She was about to become our queen bee, and the only one that was going to mean fuck all for was her. Abel didn't care if we got our noses busted by the patrons so long as they payed good coin, and neither would she.”

“A regime change doesn’t necessarily mean a change in policy,” Goodnight agreed.

Queen Ann glared, and Goodnight raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. No more interruptions from the old cowboy who may die soon.”

“Well, right on the heels of that I had another thought come tumbling out of my head,” Queen Ann continued. “More than one actually! It was like a god damn rock slide. Josephine was standing right next to me slack-jawed at the sight of Abel being face down in his poker chips, and I was standing next to her slack-jawed at the audacity of my own damn thoughts. Because I found myself thinking, ‘Well, what if someone was in charge of us who actually cared if we got our noses busted by the patrons? _I care_ about whether or not we get our noses busted by the patrons. Hell, I’m the one who did something about those busted noses. I’m the one who found Sam Chisolm. I’m the one who got herself a black eye after I missed a whole day of whoring to go look for him. I’m the one who thought we deserved better, and then actually got my ass in gear. Why am I not in charge?’”

“You wanted to be madam?” Goodnight asked cautiously. He braced himself for her glare again, he had promised no more interruptions, but the story was coming too quickly now and Queen Ann hadn’t seemed to notice the slight.

“No! That was the other thing. I should have thought ‘Seems it’s time for Madam Charlotte to take a dirt nap, and Madam Ann to take her place in this saloon. All hail me!,’ but I didn’t! Clear as a bell, all I could think was that if we ever wanted to be more than painted cats we have to leave, and leave tonight. The saloon was our whole world and it was terrible. It treated us like disposable dolls. I figured, the wider world probably wasn't any different, but at least there'd be more room to run if I needed to. How much harder could it be?”

Goodnight felt an entire essays worth of hardships spring into his mind. The very real need for food and shelter against the elements being included in the introduction.

“So you just left? All the girls just stood up as one and went ‘You know Ann. You’ve got a point there. I can’t wait to eat hard tack around a campfire during a snow storm.’ Madam Charlotte didn’t try to stop you?”

Queen Ann smirked. “Madam Charlotte never had much in the way of arm strength, and Abel’s goons were occupied with robbing him blind. They weren't smart enough to realize they could have stepped into his shoes without much fuss. I saw the window out, told everyone else I was about to jump and welcomed any company. The landing wasn’t too hard. Not all the girls left, but everyone currently with me used to lay on their backs earning coin under the same roof.”

“How are you alive?” Goodnight asked. “You’ll pardon me for saying so, but it’s been my belief that the wild country is no place for a woman.”

He was a little put out to say the least. He wasn’t sure what to do with this group of wild women who’d somehow survived what he’d always believed to be a death sentence for the fairer sex. Yes, saloon girls had a hard life, but they had a hard life nestled in the safety of a town. Even the fiery Emma Cullen had traveled with an escort. He glanced to Billy.

_I am never telling you how off guard these women have me. There’d be no living with you after that._  

Queen Ann’s eye roll was nothing compared to Billy’s, but she was young yet and had time to improve. She ran a hand along the handle of her axe. 

“For a _single_ woman, yes I imagine life is that much harder,” she said. “But you’d be surprised what a pack of women can accomplish. Especially ones who've never been pampered. Especially armed ones. Cornflower can name every plant on the prairie, and their uses. Josephine already knew how to hunt and taught the rest of us. Me and Nina were good with horses, and had enough coin between us to buy our first mount, and Cherry knew enough about the terrain we were hiking across to help us pick our campsites that first summer. We starved, and then we didn't. We were cold, and then we weren't. We did this and that to get by. Some of it legal. Some of it not. If you’re concerned I haven’t killed anyone who didn’t come at me first.”

“That is not a topic I feel qualified to judge,” Goodnight said.

“Ain’t you a saint,” Queen Ann said with a smile that was all teeth. “We met Miss Gloria because Cornflower got herself in the family way, and needed to not be. The local street walkers in the town we rode into are always good for information, and they knew Miss Gloria was in town visiting Alice’s daughter, who is a pious pain in the ass if you want my opinion on the subject. While she was helping we told her our tale, and she told us about Burnt Fish Junction. Said it was far away from anything we knew, and that it was a strange little place, but that it was safe. She promised us work, and god if I wasn’t so stupid we’d still be here tending bees and sucking on honey combs.”

Goodnight stood to change the cloth across Billy’s forehead. The other man twisted and mumbled under his hand, coughed several times, but didn’t wake.

“It’s fine, Billy,” Goodnight said softly. “It’s fine. Just hearing a tale from our new friend.”

Queen Ann eyes cut to Billy, and then around the room. They landed on several sullied handkerchiefs, but whatever she was looking for was missing, and she relaxed.  

Goodnight straightened. “What?”

“Just making sure all he’s got is a bad cold,” she said. “There is nothing that could make me stay in this room if he’s been coughing up blood.”

The mere idea of that made Goodnight feel dizzy. He sat back down, this time on the edge of the bed, and picked up a fresh rag to dip into the water bucket. After wringing it out, he dragged the damp cloth down Billy’ arms, chest and face. It was the best excuse he could come up with that would allow him to keep hold of Billy’s hand in front of company.  

“He’s not,” Goodnight insisted. “Keep talking. Story’s not over.”

This time, Queen Ann's eyes cut from Goodnight's hand to Billy's, and an expression of understanding washed over face.

“Like does call to like," she muttered. 

Goodnight didn't let go of Billy's hand, and Queen Ann continued.   

"For a while it was wonderful. It truly was, but then the hotel in town went up for sale, and there was that voice in my head again. Only this time it was asking ‘Why not me?’ Why not buy and run a place that would be ours?’ The idea of owning something was too great of a temptation."

“You had a dream,” Goodnight said.

“I had delusions of grandeur,” she snapped. “Miss Gloria and Miss Alice they tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn’t listen. They caved eventually, and helped me set the whole thing up. We needed them for the paperwork, Cornflower was who we actually had to list as the proprietor, and for the creative way they spun how we’d gotten the money. No one would believe we'd made all that money bee keeping, and we hadn't.”

Goodnight raised an eyebrow at that, but she didn’t offer further explanation on that subject.

“It worked too. God damn it, I was so excited. I even thought about sneaking over to the Burnt Fish saloon, and offering a few of the girls a job at my place as maids or dishwashers or whatever. Not all star gazers hate the life, but not all of them are given other options either. We hadn’t had the hotel open a week before the scum of the earth was darkening our doorway, and claiming we had no right to the building.”

“The piss ant?” Goodnight asked.

Queen Ann blinked, and then laughed. “You mean Josiah? Big blue eyes, slicker than snot, and like to swagger around the front desk?”

Goodnight shifted uncomfortably. “That would be him.”

“Oh, he’s terrible,” Queen Ann said. “They gave him my hotel, and the fact that he’s fucking the mayor on the regular helped grease the wheels, but I don’t think he would have had the guts to do any of it if that terrible woman’s group hadn’t recruited him. That Miss Abigale who was trying to hire you? Who walked into this house like she owned it? She was hiring you to find _us_. She runs the Concerned Woman’s Morality Association. Lord knows how she found out about our pasts, but she did. As by god as her witness a bunch of former whores weren't going to own anything so grand as a hotel in her town. She p ractically turned purple when she announced her findings at the town meeting. A meeting I actually attended! I was ready to attend all the dumb meetings to keep my hotel afloat! I was ready to be respectable! I was going to buy a _respectable_ hat!"

“A morality group?” Goodnight rolled his next question through his mind carefully before deciding to ask it. “The ladies I met previously seemed welcoming of Alice and Gloria.” 

“Those two have built up a fair amount of social capital in Burnt Fish,” Queen Ann explained. “Took them a long time to earn it, and I can’t say even that would be enough if Miss Gloria wasn’t the only real midwife in 100 miles. They’re upstanding members of the community, generous with their time and coin, they make the best honey in three states, and there’s not a man in this town that’s willing to cross Miss Gloria when she’s angry.”   

She giggled, and in that moment she looked so young that Goodnight wondered if his estimation of her age was incorrect.

“Watching her and Abigale go head –to-head. It was like watching two bears rise up, and rush each other. How the good people of Burnt Fish make the rest of her and Alice’s life work in their heads I can’t tell you, but they turn a blind eye to them. But a town will only turn a blind eye to so much, and yes. We got angry, and burnt the Minnow down-”

“Very few can turn a blind eye to arson,” Goodnight agreed.

"And we've been letting everyone's sheep out of their pens every night," Queen Ann said. “And stealing eggs from their chickens, tipping cows over, peeing in vegetable gardens, stealing wood, and there's a reason this town hasn't seen a letter in four months."

"The reason being you?" Goodnight asked. 

"I know we went too far!" Queen Ann said. "We were so angry that after awhile the little things weren't enough! I know we done wrong, but Abigale will see us hanged if she catches us. Even if it hadn’t been us she’d still decide to lay the blame at our feet. These girls are my family, and I won’t see them brought to low again. Not by anyone. They’re my responsibility, and I’ve already failed them so many times. I won't let it happen again. If you try to lead us somewhere terrible I will cut that silver tongue out of your mouth, and make you eat it.”

“Can’t say I’d enjoy that,” Goodnight agreed. “What can I do to put your mind at rest?"

“Sam Chisolm,” Queen Ann said. “Write a letter and ask him to come here. If he vouches for your Emma I will believe your story about far away farms that need labor, and won’t turn a bunch of former whores away.”

Goodnight turned the request over in his mind. Last he’d heard Sam, Red Harvest and Vasquez had ridden out together no doubt righting wrongs, and being completely forgotten for their efforts. Faraday and Horne had both stayed on at Rose Creek with Miss Emma.

“I can do that,” Goodnight said. “But you have to understand that it could take several weeks for him to make the trip.”

Queen Ann barked a laugh and motioned to Billy. “Don’t you understand that he won’t be out of that bed for weeks? Not unless he’d like to be carried out in a pine box. I could go over there right now, tweak him on the nose, and he’d be too weak to swat me away. A newborn kitten would be more of a danger.”

Goodnight squeezed Billy’s hand. Comforted by the rough callouses that decorated the palm. “If you feel secure that you and your ladies in waiting are safe at this farm until they arrive, yes. I’ll write Sam.”

Jumping off the table, Queen Ann collected her axe with an approving salute. “Then allow me to fetch you some paper and ink. Mail is once again about to circulate in Burnt Fish Junction.”

When even her shadow had disappeared from Goodnight’s gaze he gently set Billy’s hand atop the blankets, and swung his own feet up so he could lie next to him. He was only half on the bed, and one of his feet had to stay the floor to keep his entire body from tumbling off.

“Well, Billy,” Goodnight said. “Her and Emma Cullen are either going to kill one another or become the best of friends. I hope it’s the latter.”

Billy rolled toward Goodnight, and blearily opened his eyes.

“Goodnight?”

“Yes, _cher_. What do you need?”

But whatever energy had caused Billy to rouse was gone, and he slid back into sleep.  Goodnight got himself as comfortable as he could. He’d had a lot of practice in his life at falling asleep in less than ideal situations. He’d just about managed it, could feel the gentle waves of sleep beginning to sweetly drown him, when something hard banged against the window.

Goodnight jumped, lost his balanced, and felt to the floor.

“What the hell!?”

He pushed himself onto his elbows, and was greeted with the very familiar sight of a burning torch being thrown at the window above the work table. Goodnight braced himself for a shower of glass and noise, but instead there was another loud bang as the torch bounced off the glass and fell out of sight.

An angry, if muffled string of curses followed it, and then the torch was back in his line of vision and being tapped rapidly against the glass as though it were polity requesting an entrance.   

Made speechless by the out-and-out _audacity_ of this, ( _another_ god damn fire when Billy was finally properly asleep? This would not stand.) Goodnight scrambled to his feet, and scooped up the still full bucket of icy water he’d been using in the hours past to keep Billy cool. He climbed atop the work table with only a minimal amount of spilling, his heavy boots stomping what remained of the garlic cloves flat, threw the window open and then flung the contents of the water bucket outside.

The lit torch went out, and someone bellowed in protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are coming towards the home stretch here....I hope. I have to say I really thought about putting in some of the other types of 'medicine' that was being used at the time, but I actually want Billy to live through this so that idea got axed. 
> 
> I am sorry that this chapter is exposition central. I don't think I left anything out of the girl gang backstory, but if anyone is still lost please tell me and I'll try to add more in the next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you again for everyone who enjoying this crazy story!

**Author's Note:**

> -I have no idea what this is. I really went back and forth about posting it without a second chapter written, but oh what the hell. Once more into the fray!
> 
> -The button this is actually a part of the costumes in cannon that Tumblr user Lostthehat recently pointed out. I have a lot of feelings about it. http://lostthehat.tumblr.com/post/158324560645


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